GIFT  OF 
Prof.    C.A.   Kofold 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


MARK  AKINSIDE,  M.D. 


HIS  LIFE. 


NEW-YORK.— C.  WELLS. 
1838. 


THE  LIFE  OF  AKINSIDE. 


MARK  AKINSIDE,  "  the  British  Lucretms>"  was  born  at  New- 
castle-upon-Tyne,  Nov.  9,  1721.  His  father,  Mark  Akinside,  was 
a  substantial  butcher  in  that  town.  His  mother,  Mary  Lumsden, 
was  probably  of  Scottish  extraction.  Both  parents  were  Dissenters. 

Mr.  Brand  the  present  vicar  of  Newcastle,  in  his  "  Observations 
on  popular  Antiquities,"  alleges,  that  a  halt  which  he  had  hi  his  gait 
was  occasioned  by  the  failing  of  a  cleaver  from  his  fathers  stall  upon 
him,  wlven  he  was  a  boy. 

He  received  the  first  part  of  liis  education  at  the  free-school  of 
Newcastle,  and  was  afterwards  placed  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Wilson, 
a  dissenting  minister,  who  kept  an  academy  in  that  town,  where  he 
first  began  to  write  verses.  The  Virtuoso  and  7 he  Poet,  a  ithaftsodyi 
written  at  the  age  of  T6 ;  Ijove,  an  Elegy ;  a  British  fkiifijfic ; 
and  a  Hymn  to  Science,  at  17,  omitted  in  the  publication  of  his 
works  by  Mr.  Dyson,  are  to  be  found  in  volumes  7  and  8  of  the 
(Gentleman's  Magazine,  dated  fiom  Newcastle,  and  signed  Marcus. 
They  bear  evident  marks  of  early  genius. 

At  the  ngcof  eighteen  he  was  sent  to  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
that  he  might  qualify  himself  for  the  office  of  a  dissenting  minister, 
and  received  some  assistance  from  the  fund  which  the  dissenters  em- 
ploy in  educating  young  men  of  scanty  fortune.  He  prosecuted  his 
studies  for  one  winter,  upon  this  plan:  but  a  wider  view  of  the 
world,  prompting  other  hopes,  he  determined  to  study  physic;  and 
repaid,  afterwards,  that  contribution  which,  being  received  for  a  dif- 
ferent purpose,  he  justly  thought  it  dishonourable  to  retain. 

It  is  said  that  his  greatest  work,  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination, 
was  writ  ten -at  Morpeth,  on  the  banks  of  the  Wensbeck,  which  he 
has  -celebrated  in  his  verses,  while  he  was  on  a  visit  to  his  relations, 
before  he  \vcp.t  to  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

At  Edinburgh,  he  distinguished  himself  likewise  by  his  poetical 
compositions.  His  Ode  on  the  Winter  SoUtlce,  which  is  dated  1740, 
•a  as  certainly  composed  at  that  place. 

His  taste  for  poetry  facilitated  his  introduction  to  the  most  re- 
spectable literary  associations  among  his  fellow  students,  by  whom 
his  genius  and  learning  were  highly  inspected  •  and  his  philosophi- 
cal knowledge  easily  procured  him  admission  into  the  "  Medical  So- 
ciety," an  institution  coeval  with  the  establishment  of  a  regular 
school  of  physic  in  the  University,  of  which  'he  was  elected  a  mem- 
ber, December  30,  1740. 

In  1741,  after  staying  three  years  at  Edinburgh,  he  removed  to 
Leyden,  In  pursuit  of  medical  knowledge,  where  he  contracted  an 


torn  of  the  Dutch  Universities,  DC  oriu  ft  increment  fatus  Hu 

M101983 


vi  THE   LIFE   OF    AKINSIDE. 

in  wiiich  he  dicp'ayeJ  hib  medical  sagacity,  by  attacking  some  opin- 
ions of  Leuwcnhoek,  and  other  writers,  at  that  time  very  generally 
received,  and  by  proposing  an  hypothesis,  which  has  been  since  a- 
dopted  by  the  best  physicians  and  philosophers. 

He  now  returned  to  England  with  his  friend  Mr.  Dyson,  and  the 
same  year  published  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  which  was  in 
general  received  with  great  applause. 

When  the  copy  \vas  offered  to  Dodslejr,  by  whom  it  was  publish- 
ed, the  price  demanded  for  it,  which  was  120/.  being  such  as  he 
was  not  inclined  to  give  precipitately,  he  carried  the  work  to  Pope; 
who,  having  looked  into  it,  advised  him  not  to  make  a  niggardly  of- 
fer, for  <c  this  was  no  every -day  poet.'J 

Warburton  being  dissatisfied  with  a  note  in  the  third  book,  in  which 
he  adopts  Shaftesbury's  assertion  of  the  efficacy  of  ridicule  for  the 
discovery  of  truth,  thought  proper,  in  a  preface  to  one  of  his  publi- 
cations, to  make  some  severe  strictures  upon  hint ;  in  which,  how- 
ever, he  was  attacked  as  a  philosopher,  not  as  a  poet. 

He  was  defended  by  his  friend  Mr.  Dyson,  in  an  anonymous 
"  Epistle  to  Mr.  Warburton,  occasioned  by  his  treatment  of  the 
Author  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination,'*  in  which  there  are  several 
sensible  observations ;  but  the  style  is  uncouth  and  unpleasant. 

Warburton's  strictures  on  Akinside,  were  afterwards  reprinted  in 
the  postscript  to  the  dedication  to  the  "  Free-thinker/'  prefixed  to 
the  first  volume  of  the  "  Divine  Legation,"  without,  however,  any 
notice  being  taken  of  what  had  been  written  in  his  defence. 

Being  now  to  live  by  his  profession,  he  first  commenced  Physi- 
cian at  Northampton,  where  Dr..  Stonehouse  then  practised,  with 
such  reputation  and  success,  that  a  stranger  was  not  likely  to  gain 
ground  upon  him. 

Dr.  Kippis,  who  then  resided  at  Northampton  for  education,  re- 
lates, that  Dr.  Doddridge  and  Akinside  carried  on  an  amicable  de- 
bate concerning  the  opinions  of  the  ancients,  with  regard  to  a  future 
state  of  rewards  and  punishments,  in  which  Akinside  supported  the 
firm  belief  of  Cicero  in  particular,  in  this  great  article  of  natural 
religion. 

On  his  quitting  Northampton,  he  would  perhaps  have  been  re- 
duced to  great  exigencies  in  making  his  way  as  a  physician;  but 
that  Mr.  Dyson,  with  an  ardour  of  friendship  that  has  no  examples, 
supported  him  while  he  was  endeavouring  to  make  himself  known. 

Mr.  Dyson  had  studied  the  law,  and  been  called  to  the  bar ;  but 
in  a  short  time,  having  purchased  of  Mr.  Hardinge  his  place  of 
clerk  of  the  House  of  Commons,  he  quitted  Westminster  Hall,  and 
for  the  purpose  of  introducing  Akinside  to  acquaintance  in  an  opu- 
lent neighbourhood  near  the  town,  bought  a  house  at  North-End, 
Hampstead,  where  they  dwelt  together  during  the  summer  season  5 
frequenting  the  long-room,  and  all  clubs  and  assemblies  of  the 
inhabitants. 

At  these  meetings,  Sir  John  Hawkins  relates,  that  Akinside  was 
for  displaying  those  talents  which  had  acquired  him  the  reputation 
he  enjoyed  in  other  companies;  "  but  here,"  he  observes,  "  they 
were  of  little  use  to  him;  on  the  contrary,  they  tended  to  engage 


THE    LIFE    OF    AKINSIDE.  vii 

him  in  disputes  that  betrayed  him  into  a  contempt  of  those  that  dif- 
fered in  opinion  from  him." 

It  was  found  out  that  he  was  a  man  of  low  birth,  and  a  dependent 
on  Mr.  Dyson ;  circumstances  that  furnished  those  whom  he  of- 
fended with  a  ground  of  reproach  that  reduced  him  to  the  necessity 
of  asserting  that  he  was  a  gentleman. 

Little  could  be  done  at  Hampstead  after  matters  had  proceeded 
to  this  extremity.  Mr.  Dyson  parted  with  his  villa  at  North -End, 
and  settled  his  friend  in  a  small  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square,  as- 
signing him,  with  unexampled  liberality,  300 1.  a  year,  which  en- 
abled him  to  keep  a  chariot,  and  make  a  proper  appearance  in  the 
world. 

"  If  our  princes  and  nobles,"  says  Mr.  Hayley,  "  have  not  equal- 
led those  of  other  kingdoms  in  liberality  to  the  great  poets  of  their 
country,  England  may  yet  boast  the  name  of  a  private  gentleman, 
.who  discovered,  in  this  respect,  a  most  princely  spirit.  No  nation, 
either  ancient  or  modern,  can  produce  an  example  of  munificence 
more  truly  noble  than  the  annual  gratuity  which  Akinside  received 
from  Mr.  Dyson;  a  tribute  of  generous  and  affectionate  admiration, 
endeared  to  its  worthy  possessor  by  every  consideration  which  could 
make  it  honourable  both  to  himself  and  to  his  patron.'5 

At  London  he  was  known  as  a  poet  by  The  Pleasure*  of  Imagina- 
tion., and  the  Epistle  to  Curio,  which  were  followed  in  1745,  by  Odes 
on  several  Subjects,  written,  as  he  tells  us,  "  at  very  different  inter- 
vals, and  with  a  view  to  very  diflerent  manners  of  expression  and 
versification." 

These  performances  appeared  before  he  was  24  years  of  age  ;  but 
he  was  afterwards  more  slow  in  his  publications.  His  Ode  to  the  Earl 
of  Huntingdon  came  out  in  1748,  and  in  1758  he  attempted  to  rouse 
the  national  spirit  by  an  Ode  to  the  Country  Gentlemen  of  F.ngland. 

His  poetical  reputation  was  now  completely  established.  He  ad- 
vanced gradually  in  medical  reputation,  but  never  attained  any  great 
extent  of  practice  or  eminence  of  popularity. 

Akinside  appears  to  have  used  every  endeavour  to  become  popu- 
lar; "  but  defeated  them  all, '}  says  Sir  John  Hawkins,  "  by  the 
high  opinion  he  every  where  manifested  of  himself,  and  the  little 
condescension  he  showed  to  men  of  inferior  endowments." 

He  seems,  however,  to  have  possessed  more  discretion  than  Sir 
John  Hawkins  allows  him^  for  besides  his  eagerness  in  forcing  him- 
seif  into  notice,  by  an  ambitious  ostentation  of  elegance  and  litera- 
ture, he  placed  himself  in  view  by  all  the  common  methods  ;  and 
arrived  at  most  of  the  honours  incident  to  his  profession.  He  be- 
c.ime  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society,  was  admitted  by  mandamns  to 
the  degree  of  Doctor  in  Physic  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  be- 
came Physician  to  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  was  elected  Fellow  of  the 
College  of  Physicians,  chosen  Reader  of  the  Gulstonian  and  Cronian 
Lectures,  and,  on  the  establishment  of  the  Queen's  household,  ap- 
pointed one  of  the  Physicians  to  her  Majesty. 

He  contributed  to  the  "  Philosophical  Transactions,"  1757, 
Observations  on  the  Origin  and  Use  of  the  Lymphatic  Vessels  in 
Animals,  being  an  extract  from  the  Gulstonian  Lectures,  read 


viii  THE    LIFE    OF    AKINSIDE. 

mthe  theatre  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  in  June  1755.  Dr. 
Monro  at  Edinburgh  having  taken  notice  of  some  inaccuracies  in  this 
paper,  in  his  "  Observations,  Anatomical  Physiological,3'  &c.  he 
published  a  small  pamphlet  in  his  vindication,  1758.  To  the 
"  Philosophical  Transactions/'  1763,  he  contributed  An  Account  of 
a  Blow  on  the  Heart,  and  its  Effects.  Oratio  Anniversaria  ex  Insti- 
tute Harveii,  &c.  Anno  1759,  4to.  1760,  to  the  first  volcime  of 
the  <«  Medical  Transactions,"  he  contributed  Observations  on  Can- 
cers ;  of  the  Use  of  Ipecacuhana  in  Asthmas,  and  a  Method  of  treat- 
ing White  Swellings  of  the  Joints.  He  read  at  the  College,  some  ob- 
servations made  in  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  on  the  pntrid  Erysipelas, 
which  he  intended  for  the  second  volume  of  the  "  Medical  Trans- 
actions," but  it  was  not  returned  at  the  time  of  his  death.  He  be- 
gan to  give  for  the  Cronian  Lecture,  A  History  of  the  Revival  of 
^earning,  from  which  he  soon  desisted,  as  it  was  supposed,  in  dis- 
gust, some  one  of  the  College  having  objected  that  he  had  chosen  a 
subject  foreign  to  the  institution. 

In  1761,  the  celebrated  Thomas  Hollis,  Esq.  purchased  a  bed 
which  once  belonged  to  Milton,  and  in  which  he  died.  This  bed  he 
s,eot  as  a  present  to  Akinside,  with  the  following  card  : — "  An  Eng- 
lish gentleman  is  desirous  of  having  the  honour  to  present  a  bed', 
which  once  belonged  to  John  Milton,  and  on  which  h'e  died;  and  if 
the  Doctor's  genius,  believing  himself  obliged,  and  having  slept  on 
that  bed,  should  prompt  him  to  write  an  ode  to  the  memory  of  John 
Milton,,  and  the  assertor  of  British  Liberty,  that  gentleman  would 
think  himself  abundantly  recompensed.5' — Akinside,  it  is  said,  seem- 
ed wonderfully  delighted  with  this  bed,  and  had  it  put  up  in  his 
house ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  he  took  any  other  notice  of  Mr. 
Hollis's  benefaction  and  request. 

In  the  appendix  to  the  "  Memoirs  of  Mr.  Hollis,"  are  two  letters 
extracted  from  the  t(  Public  Advertiser,5'  relative  to  his  Ode  to 
Thomas  J£dvnrdst  Esq.  and  to  his  supposed  Reflections  on  the  'llergy, 
in  a  passage  in  2 he  Pleasures  of  Imagination.  Among  Dr.  Birch's 
papers  in  the  British  Museum,  are  several  letters  written  to  him 
by  Akinside. 

After  he  came  into  considerable  reputation  and  practice,  he  wrote 
little  poetry,  but  published,  from  time  to  time,  medical  essays  and 
observations,  in  the  "Transactions''  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  of 
the  College  of  Physicians. 

Sir  John  Hawkins,  in  his  "Life  of  Dr.  Johnson,"  has  drawn 
Akinside's  character  somewhat  at  large ;  and  it  is,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  highly  to  his  advantage. 

"  Akinside  was  a  man  of  religion  and  strict  virtue,  a  philo- 
sopher, a  scholar,  and  a  fine  poet.  His  conversation  was  of 
the  most  delightful  kind,  learned,  instructive,  and  without 
any  affectation  of  wit,  cheerful,  and  entertaining.  One  of  the 
pleasantest  days  of  my  life,  I  passed  with  him,  Mr.  Dyson,  and 
another  friend  at  Putney  bowling-green-house,  where  a  neat 
and  elegant  dinner,  the  enlivening  sunhine  of  a  summer  day,  and 
the  view  of  an  unclouded  sky,  were  the  least  of  our  gratifica- 
tions. In  perfect  good  humour  with  himself  and  alt  around^ 


T  H  E    L  I  F  E   O  F    A  K  I  N  S  I  D  E.  ix 

him,  he  seemed  to  feel  a  joy  that  he  lived  ;  and  poured  out  his 
^gratiilations  to  the  great  Disposer  of  all  felicity,  in  expressions 
that  Plato  himself  might  have  uttered  on  such  an  occasion. 
In  conversation  with  select  friends,  and  those  whose  course 
of  study  had  been  nearly  the  same  with  his  own,  it  was  an 
usual  thing-  with  him,  in*  libations  to  the  memory  cf  eminent 
men  among  the  ancients,  to  bring1  their  characters  into  view, 
and  thereby  give  occasion  to  expatiate  on  those  particulars  of 
their  lives  that  had  rendered  them  famous.  His  method  was 
to  arrange  them  into  three  classes,  philosophers,  poets,  and 
legislators." 

AK INS  IDE  was  very  much  devoted  to  the  study  of  ancient 
literature,  and  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  best  philosophers  of 
antiquity,  particularly  of  Plato  and  Cicero.  His  philosophi- 
cal knowledge  and  classical  taste  are  conspicuous  in  his  poems, 
and  in  the  notes  and  illustrations  which  he  has  annexed  to 
them.  Of  the  modern  philosophers,  Shaftesbury  and  Hutche- 
son  were  his  greatest  favourites.  His  high  veneration  for  the 
Supreme  Being,  his  noble  sentiments  of  the  wisdom  and  be- 
nevoience  of  the  Divine  Providence,  and  his  zeal  for  the  cause 
of  virtue,  are  apparent  in  all  his  poems.  His  Ode  to  William 
Hall,  Esq.  with  the  works  of  Chaulieii,  condemns  the  licentU 
ousness  of  that  poet.  His  regard  to  the  Christian  revelation, 
and  his  solicitude  to  have  it  preserved  in  its  native  purity, 
are  displayed  in  tlie  Ode  to  tke  Bishop  cf  Winchester.  The  Ode 
to  the  Author  of' the  Memoirs  of  tbe  H(,use  of  Brandenburgh, 
seems  to  have  been  written  on  purpose  to  expose  the  irreli- 
gious tenets  of  the  royal  historian.  He  was  warmly  attached 
to  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  His  zeal  for  free- 
dom is  a  distinguished  feature,  and  peculiar  excellence  in  the 
character  of  his  poetry.  His  productions  uniformly  g'low  with 
the  sacred  fire  of  liberty,  insomuch  that  he  well  deserves  to  be 
stiled,  "  the  Poet  of  the  Community."  Two  of  his  principal 
odes  are  directly  consecrated  to  it,  the  Ode  to  the  Eurl  of 
Huntingdon,  and  that  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

His  Disseriatio  de  Dysenteria,  published  in  1764,  which  has 
been  twice  translated  into  English,  was  considered  as  a  very  con- 
spicuous specimen  of  Latinity,  that  entitled  him  to  the  same  height 
of  place  among  the  scholars  as  he  possessed  before  among  the  wits  ; 
and  he  might  have  risen  to  a  greater  elevation  of  character,  but  that 
his  studies  were  ended  with  his  life,  by  a  putrid  fever,  June  23, 
1770,  in  the  49th  year  of  his  age.  He  was  buried  in  the  parish 
church  of  St  James's,  Westminster.  His  effects,  and  particularly 
his  books  and  prints,  which  last  he  was  fond  of  collecting,  became 
the  property  of  his  great  and  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Dyson. 

AKINSIDE,  considered  as  a  didactic  and  lyric  poet,  ranks 
with  the  most  eminent  writers  of  didactic  and  lyric  poetry,  in 
ancient  or  modern  times.  In  his  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  he 
has  attempted  the  most  rich  and  poetical  form  of  didactic 


x  THELIFEOFAKINSIDE. 

writing1;  and  though,  in  the  execution  of  the  whole,  he  is  not 
equal,  he  has,  in  several  parts,  succeeded  happily,  and  dis- 
played much  genius.  "  For  my  own  part,  I  am  of  opinion, 
says  Cooper,  in  his  '«  Letters  on  Taste,"  "  that  there  is  now 
living-,  a  poet  of  as  genuine  L  genius  as  this  kingdom  ever  pro- 
duced, Shakespeare  alone  exceptcd,  Tiie  gentleman  I  mean 
is  Dr.  Akinside,  the  worthy  author  of  Ybe  Pleasures  of  Imagi- 
nation, the  most  beautiful  didactic  poem  that  ever  adorned  the 
English  language."  On  the  other  hand,  Gray,  writing  to  Dr. 
Wharton,  says  :  "  I  will  tell  you,  though  I  have  rather  turned 
over  than  read  the  poem  of  your  young  friend  (Dr.  Akinside), 
that  it  seems  to  me  above  the  middling,  and  now  and  then, 
for  a  little  while,  rises  even  to  the  best,  particularly  in  de- 
scription. It  is  often  obscure,  and  often  unintelligible,  and 
too  much  infected  with  the  Hutchcsonian  jargon.  In  short,  its 
great  fault  is,  that  it  was  published  at  least  nine  years  too 
early .**  This  opinion  hastily  delivered  in  a  private  letter,  be- 
fore the  poem  had  been  maturely  examined,  must  be  consid- 
ered as  too  severe.  The  obscurity  of  The  Pleasures  of  Ima- 
gination, when  read  with  attention,  will  chiefly  be  found  in  the 
allegory  of  the  second  book.  It  might  likewise  have  been 
better  if  the  peculiar  language  of  Hutcheson,  or  rather  of 
Shaftesbury,  had  sometimes  been  omitted.  But  though  it  is 
perhaps  defective  in  some  respects,  and  redundant  in  others, 
yet  it  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  poem,  exhibiting  many  bright 
displays  of  genius  and  fancy,  and  holding  out  sublime  views 
of  nature,  providence,  and  morality.  Akinside  himself  was 
convinced  that  it  \vas  published  too  early.  "  That  it  wanted 
revision  and  correction,"  says  his  friend  and  editor,  Mr.  Dy- 
son, "  he  was  sufficiently  sensible  ;  but  so  quick  was  the  de- 
mand for  several  successive  republications,  that,  in  any  of  the 
intervals,  to  have  completed  the  whole  of  his  corrections  was 
utterly  impossible.  He  chose  therefore  to  continne  for  some 
time  reprinting  it  without  any  alteration,  and  to  forbear  pub- 
lishing any  alterations  or  improvements,  till  he  should  be  able 
at  once  to  give  the  whole  to  the  public  complete.  And,  with 
this  view,  he  went  on  for  several  years  to  review  and  correct 
his  poem  at  his  leisure,  till  at  length  he  found  the  task  grow 
so  much  upon  his  hands,  that,  despairing  of  ever  being  able 
to  execute  it  sufficiently  to  his  own  satisfaction,  he  abandon- 
ed the  purpose  of  correcting,  and  resolved  to  write  the  poem 
over  anew,  upon  somewhat  a  different  and  enlarged  plan." 

His  Inscriptions  are  for  the  most  part,  simple,  energetic, 
and  sufficiently  poetical.  His  Hymn  to  the  Naiads  is  justly 
esteemed  a  classical  performance.  Lloyd,  speaking  of  Ho- 
mer's hymns,  which  he  had  some  thoughts  of  translating, 
says:  "  They  who  would  form  the  justest  idea  of  this  sort 
of  composition  among  the  ancients,  may  be  better  informed 
by  perusing  Dr.  Akinside's  most  classical  Hymn  to  the  Naiads, 
than  from  anv  translation  of  Homer  or  Callimachus."  The 


THE    LIFE    OF    AKINSIDE.  xi 

same  writer  concludes   his  «'  Ode  to  Genius,"  with  the  fol- 
lowing apostrophe  to  Akinside. 

And  thou,  blest  bard!  around  whose  sacred  brow 
Great  Pindars's  delegated  wreath  is  hung  ; 
Arise  and  snatch  the  majesty  of  song 
From  dulness*  servile  tribe,  and  art's  unhallow'd  throng. 

Cooper,  the  "  English  Aristippus,"  with  great  propriety, 
addressed  his  ft  Call  of  Aristippus  "  to  Akinside,  by  the  de- 
signation of  «  two-fold  disciple  of  Apollo;"  in  which  he  tells 
him,  that,  in  Elysium,  Plato  and  Virgil  shall  weave  him  a 
never-fading  crown;  while  Lucretius,  Pindar,  and  Horace, 
should  yield  him  precedence  with  pleasure." 

Mr.  Murphy,  in  his  "Poetical  Epistle  to  Dr.  Johnson" 
has  joined  Akinside  with  Gray  among  the  examples  which  he 
enumerates  of  "wealthy  genius  pining  amidst  its  store." 

Even  Gray  unwilling  strikes  his  living  lyre, 
And  wishes,  not  content,  for  Pindar's  fire  : 
And  that  sweet  bard>  who  to  our  fancy  brings, 
"  The  gayest,  happiest  attitudes  of  things." 
His  raptured  verse  can  throw  neglected  by, 
And  to  Lucretius  lift  a  reverend  eye. 

Dr.  Wharton,  in  his  excellent  <c  Essay  on  Pope,"  calls  Akin- 
side  a  didactic  poet,  who  has  happily  indulged  himself  in 
bolder  flights  of  enthusiasm,  supported  by  a  more  figurative 
style  than  was  used  by  Pope  ;  ftnd,  after  producing  a  passage 
from  7  tie  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  adds  :  "  We  have  here  a 
striking  example  of  that  poetic^  spirit,  that  harmonious  and 
varied  versification,  and  th'at  strength  of  imagery  which  con- 
spire to  excite  our  admiration  of  this  beautiful  poem." 

The  character  of  Akinside,  as  given  by  Dr.  Johnson,  al- 
though he  acknowledges,  that  in  the  fabrication  of  his  lines 
he  is  superior  to  any  other  writer  of  blank  verse,  is  so  unjust 
and  degrading,  that  he  must  either  have  been  blinded  by  pre- 
judice, or  possibly  have  never  read  him  with  the  attention  he 
merits ;— as  a  proof  of  the  latter,  I  need  only  copy  the  follow- 
ing passage  from  his  Life  by  Johnson  ;  wherein  he  adopts  a 
remark  made  by  Walker  in  his  "  Exercises  for  Improvement 
in  Elocution." — Speaking  of  Akinside.  "  His  picture  of  man 
"  is  grand  and  beautiful,  but  unfinished.  The  immortality  of 
f  the  soul,  which  is  the  natural  consequence  of  the  appetites 

*  and  powers  she   is  invested  with,   is  scarcely  once  hinted 
1  throughout  the  poem.    This  deficiency  is  amply  supplied  by 
1  the  masterly  pencil  of  Dr.  Young;  who,  like  a  good  philoso- 

*  pher,  has  invincibly  proved  the  immortality  of  man,  from  the 
'  grandeur  of  his  conceptions,  and  the  *meanness  and  misery  of 

*  his  state  ;  for  this  reason,  a  few  passages  are  selected  from 

*  See  the  translated  motto  frora  Epictetus.  page  1. 


sii  THE    LIFE    0$    AKINSir>£. 

"  the  "  Night  Thoughts,"  which,  with  those  from  Akinside, 
"  seem  to  form  a  complete  view  of  the  powers,  situation,  and 
*'  end  of  man." — Bat  there  is  scarcely  a  page  of  Akinside  that 
does  not  contradict  this  remark  ;  refer  only  to  the  first  poem, 
book  i.  lines  202,  (with  its  note)  and  436;  book  ii.  lines  343 
and  456:  also  in  the  enlarged  work,  book  i.  line  238,  and 
book  ii.  line  142,  which  last  includes  that  sublime  passage 

"  Thence  he  deems  of  his  own  lot,"  &c. 

• — and  it  will  appear  unaccountable  how  Johnson  could  have 
repeated  so  unfounded  an  aspersion. 

Dr.  Danvin  (as  Miss  Seward  relates)  ever  maintained  a 
preference  of  Akinside's  blank  verse  to  Milton's;  declaring-  it 
was  of  higher  polish,  more  classical  purity,  and  more  digni- 
fied construction. 

Dr.  Aikin,  in  his  "  Letters  on  English  Poetry,"  speaking-  of 

The  Pleasures  of  Imagination/*  says,   "  A  more  splendid 

poem,  replete  with  rich  and  lofty  imagery,  will  not  easily 

be  found  within  the  range  of  English  composition,  but  that  it 

cannot  he  fully  comprehended  without  a  close  and  attentive 

(  perusal,  and  therefore  not  calculated  to  become  a  favourite 

'  with  cursory  readers.     The  versification  is  perhaps  the  most 

(  perfect  specimen  of  blank  verse  that  the  language  affords. 

'«  If  it  has  not  the  compass  of  melody  sometimes  attained  by 

1  Milton,  it  is  free  from  his  inequalities.     Not  a  line  is  harsh 

nor  defective,    and  the  pauses  are  continually  varied  with 

the  skill  of  a  master.    His  sentiments  are  all  of  the  elevated 

and  generous   kind;  his  morality  is  pure  and  liberal;  his 

theology  simple  and  sublime.     He  was  the  perpetual  foe  of 

'  Tyranny  and  Superstition,  and  stands  prominent  in  the  rank 

*  of  the  friends  of  light  and  liberty.     His  Hymn  to  the  Naiads 

<  is  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  most'classical  poems  in  the  Eng- 

'  lish  language." 

We  cannot  close  these  testimonies  of  the  Author's  excel- 
lence better  than  by  the  same  words  that  Dr.  Johnson  finishes 
the  Life  of  Thompson. 

"  The  highest  praise  which  he  has  received  ought  not  to 
"  be  suppressed.  It  is  said  by  Lord  Littleton,  in  the  Prologue 
'*  to  Thompson's  posthumous  play,  that  his  works  contained 

"  No  line  which,  dying,  he  could  wish  to  blot." 
This  can  with  more  justice  be  said  of  AKINSIDE.* 


*  \Ve  have  taken  this  mode  of  spelling  his  name  from  his  own  hand  \vrit- 

Ir.sr,  '-is  vdi  as  the  first  editions  of  his  Poems. 


ESSAY    ON 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  IMAGINATION. 
OF  all  the  subjects  which  have  engaged  the  attention  of  Di- 
dactic Poets,  there  is  not  perhaps  a  happier  than  that  made 
choice  of  by  AKINSIBE,    ST/6e  Pleasures  of  Imagination ;  in 
which   every  step  of  the  disquisition  calls  up  objects  of  the 
most  attractive  kind,  and  Fancy  is  made  as  it  were  to  hold  a 
mirorto  her  own  charms.    Imagination  is  the  very  source  and 
well-head  of  Poetry,  and  nothing  forced  or  foreign  to  the  Muse 
could  easily  flow  from  such  a  subject.     Accordingly  we  see 
that  the  author  has   kept  close  to   his  system,  and  has  admit- 
ted neither  episode  nor  digression  :  the  allegory  in  the  second 
book,  which  is  introduced  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  his 
theory,  being  all  that  can  properly  be  called  ornament  in  this 
whole  Poem.    It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  en- 
gaging as   his  subject  is  to  minds  prepared  to  examine  it,  to 
the  generality  of  readers  it  must  appear  dry  and  abstruse.    It 
is  a  work  which  offers  us  entertainment,  but  not  of  that  easy 
kind  amidst  which  the  mind  remains  passive,  and  has  nothing 
to  do  but  to  receive   impressions.     Those  who  have  studied 
the  metaphysics  of  mind,  and  who  are  accustomed  to  investi- 
gate abstract  ideas,   will  read  it  with  a  lively  pleasure ;  but 
those  who  seek  mere  amusement  in  a  Poem,  will  find  many 
far  inferior  ones  better  suited  to  their  purpose.  The  judicious 
admirer  of'AKiNsiDE  will  not  call  people  from  the  fields  and 
the  highways  to  partake  of  his  feast ;  he  will  wish  none  to  read 
that  are  not  capable  of  understanding  him. 

The  ground-work  of  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination  is  to  be 
found  in  ADDISON'S  Essays  on  the  same  subject,  published  in 
the  Spectator.  Except  in  the  book  which  treats  on  Ridicule, 
and  even  of  that  the  hint  is  there  given,  our  author  follows 
nearly  the  same  truck;  and  lie  is  indebted  to  them  not  only 
for  the  leading  thoughts  and  grand  division  of  his  subject,  but 
for  much  of  the  colouring  also:  for  the  papers  of  ADDISON 
are  wrought  up  with  so  much  elegance  of  language,  and  adorn- 
ed with  so  many  beautiful  illustrations,  that  they  are  equal  to 
the  most  finished  Poem.  Perhaps  the  obligations  of  the 
Poet  to  the  Essay-writer  are  not  sufficiently  adverted  to,  the 
latter  being  only  slightly  mentioned  in  the  preface  to  the  Poem. 
It  is  not  meant,  however,  to  insinuate  that  AKINSIDE  had 
not  various  other  sources  of  his  ideas.  He  sat  down  to  this 
work,  which  was  published  at  the  early  age  of  three  and  twen- 
ty, warm  from  the  schools  of  ancient  philosophy,  whose  spirit 
he  had  deeply  imbibed,  and  fall  of  enthusiasm  for  the  treas- 
ures of  Greek  and  Roman  literature.  The  works  of  no  author 
have  a  more  classic  air  than  those  of  our  Poet.  His  hymn  to 
the  Naiads  shows  the  most  intimate  acquaintance  with  their 
mythology.  Their  laws,  their  arts,  their  liberty,  were  equally 
objects  of  his  warm  admiration,  and  are  frequently  referred  to 
in  various  parts  of  his  Poems.  He  was  fond  of  the  Platonic 
phibsophy,  and  mingkd  with  the  splendid  visions  of  the  Ac- 


xiv  E  S  S  A  Y    O  N    T  H  E 

ademic  school,  ideas  of  the  fair  and  beautiful,  in  morals  and 
in  taste,  gathered  from  the  writings  of  SHAFTESBURY,  HUT- 
CH INSON,  and  others  of  that  stamp,  who  then  very  much  en- 
gaged the  notice  of  the  public.  Educated  in  the  university 
of  Edinburgh,  he  joined  to  his  classic  literature  ihe  keen  dis- 
criminating spirit  of  metaphysic  inquiry,  and  the  taste  for 
moral  beauty  which  has  so  much  distinguished  our  Northern 
seminaries,  and  which  the  celebrity  of  their  professors,  and 
the  genius  of  the  place,  has  never  failed  of  communicating 
to  their  disciples.  Thus  prepared,  by  nature  with  genius,  and 
by  education  with  the  previous  studies  and  habits  of  think- 
ing, he  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  writing  a  philosophical  Poem. 

The  first  lines  contain  the  definition  of  his  subject,  which 
he  has  judiciously  varied  from  his  master,  ADD  is  ox,  who 
expressly  confines  the  pleasures  of  imagination  to  "  such  as 
arise  from  visible  objects  only  ;"  and  divides  them  into  "  the 
primary  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  which  intirely  proceed 
from  such  objects  as  are  before  our  eyes,  and  those  secon- 
dary pleasures  of  the  imagination  which  flow  from  the  ideas 
of  visible  objects,  wlien  the  objects  are  not  actually  before 
the  eye,  but  are  called,  up  into  our  memories,  or  formed  into 
agreeable  visions  of  things  that  are  either  absent  or  fictitious." 
This  definition  seems  to  exclude  a  blind  man  from  any  share 
whatever  of  those  pleasures  ;  and  yet  who  would  deny  that 
the  elegant  mind  of  BLACKLOCK  was  capable  of  receiving, 
and  even  of  imparting  them,  in  no  small  degree.  Our  author, 
therefore,  includes  every  source,  by  which,  through  any  of 
our  senses  or  perceptions,  we  receive  notices  of  the  world 
around  us  ;  as  well  as  the  reflex  pleasures  derived  from  the 
imitative  arts. 

With  what  attractive  charms  this  goodly  frame,  &,c. 

After  this  clear  and  concise  definition,  and  a  lively  and 
appropriate  invocation  to  the  powers  of  Fancy,  guided  by 
Truth  and  Liberty,  the  author  begins  by  unfolding  the  Pla- 
tonic idea  that  the  universe,  with  all  its  forms  of  material 
beauty,  was  called  into  being  from  its  prototype,  existing 
from  all  eternity  in  the  Divine  Mind.  The  different  propen- 
sities that  human  beings  are  born  with  to  various  pursuits, 
are  enumerated  in  some  very  beautiful  lines,  and  those  are 
declared  to  be  the  most  noble  which  lead  a  chosen  few  to 
the  love  and  contemplation  of  the  Supreme  Beauty,  by  the 
love  and  contemplation  of  his  works.  The  Poet  thus  imme- 
diately, and  at  the  very  outset,  dignifies  his  theme,  by  con- 
necting it  with  the  sublimest  feelings  the  human  mind  is  ca- 
pable of  entertaining,  feelings  without  which  the  various 
scenes  of  this  beautiful  universe  degenerate  into  gaudy  shows, 
fit  to  catch  the  eye  of  children,  but  uninteresting  to  the  heart 
and  affections  ;  and  those  laws  and  properties  about  which 
Philosophy  busies  herself,  into  a  bewildering  mass  of  uncon- 
nected experiments  and  independent  facts.  The  lines  afford 


PLEASURES   OF    IMAGINATION.        xv 

more  than  one  example  of  climax,  graceful  repetition,  and 
richness  of  poetic  language.  The  subject  is  then  branched 
out  into  the  three  grand  divisions  marked  by  ADDISON,  the 
Sublime,  the  Wonderful,  and  the  Beautiful.  Each  is  exempli- 
fied with  equal  judgment  and  taste,  but  the  sublime  is  per- 
haps expressed  with  most  energy,  as  it  certainly  was  most 
congenial  to  the  mind  of  our  author.  The  passage  of  which 
the  thought  is  borrowed  from  LONGINUS,  Say  why  ivas  man 
,90  eminently  raised,  is  almost  unequalled  in  grandeur  of  thought 
and  loftiness  of  expression,  yet  it  has  not  the  appearance,  as 
some  other  parts  of  the  Poem  have,  of  being  laboured  into 
excellence,  but  rather  of  being1  thrown  off  at  once  amidst  the 
swell  and  fervency  of  a  kindled  imagination.  The  final  cause 
of  each  of  these  propensities  isliappily  insinuated;  of  the 
senfce  of  the  sublime,  to  lead  us  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
Supreme  Being;  of  that  of  novelty  to  awaken  us  to  constant 
activity;  of  beauty  to  mark  out  to  us  the  objects  most  per- 
fect in  their  kind.  Thus  does  he  make  Philosophy  and  Poetry 
to  go  hand  and  hand.  The  exemplification  of  the  love  of 
novelty  in  the  audience  of  the  village  'matron,  who  tells  of 
witching  rhymes  and  t<vil  spirits,  is  highly  wrought.  The  au- 
tlior,  however,  had  doubtless  in  his  mind  not  only  the  Essays 
of  ADDISON,  which  were  immediately  under  his  eye,  but 
that  passage  in  another  paper  where  he  represents  the  circle 
at  his  land-lady's  closing  their  ranks,  and  crowding  round  the 
fire  at  the  conclusion  of  every  story  of  ghosts :  Around  the 
bsldam  all  arrect  they  hang;  Congealed  with  skivering  sighs, 
very  happily  expresses  the  effects  of  that  kind  of  terror, 
which  makes  a  man  shrink  into  himself,  and  feel  afraid,  as  it 
were,  to  draw  a  full  inpiration.  It  may  be  doubted,  how- 
ever, whether  the  attraction  which  is  felt  towards  these  kind 
of  sensations  when  they  rise  tu  terror,  can  be  fairly  referred 
to  the  love  of  novelty.  It  seems  rather  to  depend  on  that 
charm,  afterwards  touched  upon,  which  is  attatched  to  every 
thing  that  strongly  stirs  and  agitates  the  mind.  In  his  de"- 
scription  of  Beauty,  which  is  adorned  with  all  the  graces  of 
the  chaster  VENUS,  the  author  takes  occasion  to  aim  a  pal- 
pable stroke  at  the  "  Night  Thoughts"  of  Dr.  YOUNG,  which 
a  e  here  characterized  by  "  the  ghostly  gloom  of  graves, 
and  hoary  vaults,  and  cloistered  cells,'  by  walking  with 
spectres  through  the  midnight  shade,  and  attuning  the  dread- 
ful working's  of  his  heart  to  Hie  accursed  song  of  the  scream- 
ing owl.  The  same  allusion  is  repeated  in  oYie  of  his  Odes, 

"  She  flies  from  ruins  and  from  tombs." —  ' 
This  antipathy  is  not  surprising- ;  for  never  were  two  Poets 
more  contrasted.  Our  author  had  more  of  taste  and  judg- 
ment, YOUNG  more  of  originality.  AK INSIDE  maintains 
throughout  an  uniform  dignity,  YOUNG  has  been  character- 
istically described  in  a  late  Poem  as  one  in  whom 

Still  gleams  and  still  expires  the  cloudy  day 

Pf  genuine  Poetry. 


xvi  ESSAYONTHE 

The  genius  of  the  one  was  clouded  over  with  the  deepest 
glooms  of  Calvinism,  to  which  system,  however,  he  owed 
some  of  his  most  striking-  beauties,  The  religion  of  the 
ether,  all  at  least  that  appears  of  it,  and  all  indeed  that  could 
with  propriety  appear  in  such  a  Poem,  is  the  purest  Theism  : 
liberal,  cheerful,  and  sublime  ;  or,  if  admitting-  any  mixture, 
he  seems  inclined  to  tincture  it  with  the  mysticism  of  PLATO, 
and  the  gay  fables  of  ancient  mythology.  The  one  declaims 
against  infidels,  the  other  against  monks  ;  the  one  resembles 
the  Gothic,  the  other  the  Grecian  architecture  ;  the  one  has 
been  read  with  deep  interest  by  many  who,  when  they  have 
abandoned  the  tenets  of  orthodoxy  can  scarcely  bear  to  re- 
peruse  him  ;  the  other  dealing  more  in  general  truths,  will 
always  be  read  with  pleasure,  though  he  will  never  make  s& 
deep  an  impression. 

The  Poem  goes  on  to  trace  the  connection  of  Beauty 
with  Truth,  by  showing  that  all  the  Beauty  we  admire  in  vege- 
table or  animal  life  results  from  the  fitness  of  the  object  to 
the  use  for  which  it  is  intended,  and  serves  as  a  kind  of  stamp, 
set  by  ..the  Creator  to  point  out  the  health,  soundness,  and 
perfection  of  the  form  in  which  it  resides.  This  leads  him 
on  to  speak  of  moral  Beauty,  and  tracing  the  regular  grada- 
tions of  Beauty  through  colour,  shape,  symmetry,  and  grace, 
to  us  highest  character  in  the  expression  of  moral  feel- 
ings, he  breaks  out  into  an  animated  apostrophe, 

Mind,  mind  alone— the  Jiving  fountain  in  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  and  sublime. 

The  Poem  continues  in  a  high  strain  of  noble  enthusiasm 
to  the  end  of  the  book,  and  concludes  with  an  invocation  to 
the  genius  of  ancient  Greece,  with  whose  philosophy  and 
high  sense  of  liberty  he  was  equally  enamoured.  It  is  easy 
for  the  render  who  is  conversant  in  the  writings  of  SIIAFTES- 
BURY  and  HUTCHINSON  to  perceive  how  much  their  elegant 
and  fascinating  system  is  adapted  to  ennoble  our  author's 
subject,  and  how  much  77ie  Pleasures  of  Imagination  are  rais- 
ed in  value  and  importance  by  building  the  throne  of  Virtue 
so  near  the  bower  of  Beauty.  The  book  is  complete  in  it- 
self; and  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  hazard  a  conjecture,  con- 
tains nearly  the  whole  of  what  the  author  on  the  first  view 
might  think  necessary  to  his  subject. 

The  second  book  opens  with  a  complaint  founded,  perhaps, 
rather  in  a  partiality  for  the  ancients  than  attention  to  fact, 
of  the  disunion  in  modern  times  of  Philosophy  and  Poetry.  To 
the  same  classic  prejudice  (to  which  a  good  scholar  is  very 
prone)  may  be  attributed  the  mention  of  the  courtly  compli- 
ments which  debased  the  verse  of  TASSO  :  and  the  supersti- 
ous  legends  which  employed  the  pencil  of  RAPHAEL  in  con- 
tradistinction to  the  works  of  the  ancients,  as  if,  in  sober 
truth,  any  one  was  prepared  to  assert  that  there  was  less  flat- 
tery in  the  Augustine  age,  and  less  superstition  in  the  idle 
nwtholofrv  of  HOMSH  and  OVID.  Such  prejudices  ought  U> 


PLEASURES    OF    IMAGINATION,       xvi! 

be  laid  aside  with  the  gradus  of  the  school-boy.  The  Poet 
proceeds  to  consider  the  accession  to  the  Pleasures  of  Ima- 
gination from  adventitious  circumstances,  of  which  he  gives 
various  instances  :  that  of  the  Newtonian  theory  of  the  rain- 
bow seems  too  abstruse  even  for  a  philosophical  Poem  ;  it 
may  be  doubted  whether,  if  understood,  it  is  of  a  nature  to 
mix  well  with  the  pleasure  of  colours  ;  it  certainly  does  not 
accord  well  with  that  of  verse.  The  'influence  of  Passion  is 
next  considered,  and  the  mysterious  pleasure  which  is  *  mixed 
with  the  energies  and  emotion*  of  tbose  passions  that  are  in 
their  own  nature  painful.  To  solve  this  problem,  which  has 
been  one  in  all  ages,  a  long  allegory  is  introduced,  which 
though  wrought  up  with  a  good  deal  of  the  decoration  of 
Poetry,  is  nearly  as  difficult  to  comprehend  as  the  problem 
itself.  It  begins  with  presenting  a  scene  of  desolation,  inhere 
tlie  parched  adder  dies  ;  this  vanishes,  and  another  is  presented. 
What  we  hoped  to  have  heard  from  the  Poet,  we  are  direct- 
ed to  learn  from  old  HARMODIUS.  HARMODIUS  is  only  intro- 
duced to  refer  us  to  the  Genius,  and  the  Genius  shifts  his 
scenes  like  the  pictures  of  a  magic  lantern,  hefore  he  explains 
tons  the  scope  and  purport  of  the  visions.  The  figures  of 
Pleasure  and  Virtue  are  in  a  good  measure  copied  from  the 
choice  of  HERCULES,  only  that,  as  EUPHROSY:NE  is  the  God- 
dess of  innocent  pleasure,  every  thing  voluptuous  is  left  out 
of  the  picture.  The  description  of  the  son  of  NEMESIS  is 
wrought  up  with  much  strength  of  colouring.  The  story  is 
in  fact  the  introduction  of  evil,  accounted  for  by  the  necessity 
of  training  the  pupil  of  Providence  to  the  love  of  virtue,  the 
supreme  good,  by  withdrawing  from  him  for  a  while  the  al- 
lurements of  pleasure  ;  but  why  his  very  suffering  should  be 
attended  with  pleasure,  which  was  the  phenomenon  to  be  ac- 
counted for,  is  not  so  clearly  made  out.  We  are  told  indeed 
that  the  youth  is  willing  to  bear  the  frowns  of  the  son  of  NE- 
MESIS in  all  their  horrors,  provided  EUPHROSYXE  will  bless 
him  witli  her  smiles,  that  is  to  say,  he  is  willing  to  be  miser- 
able provided  he  may  be  happy  at  the  same  time.  Upon  this 
EUPIIRQSYNE  appears,  and  declares  that -she  will  always  bft 
present  for  the  future,  whenever,  supported  by  Virtue,  he 
sustains  a  combat  with  Pain.  So  far  indeed  we  may  gather 
from  this  representation,  that  pleasure  is  always  annexed  to 
the  exercise  of  our  moral  feelings,  which  is  probably  the  true 
account  of  the  matter  ;  but  this  truth  is  rather  darkened  than 
illustrated  by  the  fable,  which  does  not  satisfactorily  explain 
how  the  connection  is  produced.  The  allegory  is  not  very 
consistent  in  another  place,  where  we  are  told  that  Virtue!  had 
left  the  youth,  while  at  the  same  time  sweetest  innocence  illu- 
mined hh  bashful  eyes.  He  had  a- ready  fallen >  and  yei.  he  had 
not  lost  his  innocence  ;  the  storm  of  wrath  which  falls  upon 
him  is  therefore  unaccounted  for.  Upon  the  whole,  .though 

*  "  Which  Virtue  mixes  "    See  p.  r>5,  1.  679  to  683,  ami  p.  i:'4,  !.  'J(4  to  '>!.; 
t  Th?  S  yioul  viriie  r^rtltude  only  bud  left  h:m  in  cul*.  ersjty.         F.eUc. 


xviii  <  ESSAYONTHE 

this  allegory  is  in  many  parts  ingenious,  and  is  laboured  into 
splendid  poetry,'we  fear  it  has  the  effect  upon  most  readers 
which  it  seems  it  had  upcn  the  author  himself,  who  tells  us 
that  Awhile  he  stood 

Perplcx'd  and  giddy. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  this  discussion  is  strictly  with- 
in the  bounds  of  the  subject,  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  ? 
since  the  instances  given  are  not  confined  to  scenic  represen- 
tations, but  refer  to  the  primary  feelings  of  the  passions. 
What  has  *  imagination  to  do  with 

The  bitter  shower 
Which  sorrow  sheds  upon  a  brother's  grave  ? 

The  book  concludes  with  an  animated  and  pathetic  exem- 
plification of  the  gratification  felt  in  the  indulgence  of  mourn- 
ful sympathy,  or  generous  indignation  ;  the  latter  pointed 
against  the  two  things  the  author  most  hated,  superstition 
and  tyranny. 

The  third  book  touches  upon  a  difficult  and  ungrateful 
subject  for  the  poetic  art,  the  Pleasures  of  Ridicule.  It  in- 
volves the  question,  much  agitated  at  that  time,  whether 
ridicule  be  the  test  of  truth.  Our  author  follows  the  system 
of  SHAFTESBURY,  which  drew  upon  him  an  attack  from  Bishop 
WARBURTON,  and  he  was  defended  by  his  friend  and  patron 
JEREMIAH  DYSON.  To  say  truth,  it  is  easier  to  defend  the 
Philosopher  than  the  Poet.  There  is  much  acuteness  in  the 
theory,  and  much  art  exhibited  in  giving  a  poetical  dress  to 
the  various  illustrations  he  makes  use  of:  but  after  all,  the 
subject  is  so  barren  in  itself,  and  so  unsuitable  to  the  solemn 
manner  of  AKINSIDE,  that  we  admire  without  pleasure,  and 
acquiesce  without  interest  He  promises  indeed  to 
Unbend  his  serious  measure 

But  he  has  not  kept  his  promise  :  neither  indeed  could  he, 
for  besides  that  no  one  was  ever  less  capable  than  our  author 
of  unbending,  tbe  object  of  his  disquisition  is  not  to  make  us 
laugh,  but  to  tell  us  why  we  laugh  :  a  very  different  problem, 
and  very  remote  from  any  iderts  of  pleasantry.  Nor  could 
he,  without  violating  uniformity,  change  the  measure  of  his 
Poem,  otherwise  this  part,  of  his  subject  not  affording  any 
play  for  the  higher  beauties  and  bolder  sweep  of  blank  verse, 
would  have  been  better  treated  of  in  the  neat  and  terse  coup- 
let, after  the  manner  of  POPE'S  Ethical  Epistles,  or  YOUNG'S 
Satires.  He  begins,  agreeably  to  the  system  he  had  embrac- 
ed, with  deducing  all  deviations  from  rectitude  or  propriety, 
from  false  opinions,  imbibed  in  early  youth,  which  attract  the 
Imagination  by  fallacious  shows  of  good.  Of  these  false  opin- 
ions the  more  serious  lead  to  vice,  while  those  which  refer  to 
the  less  important  particulars  of  our  conduct  betray  to  ridi- 
cule, the  source  of  which  is  incongruity,  audits  final  cause 
the  assisting  the  tardy  deductions  of  reason  by  the  quick  im- 
pulse of  an  instinctive  sense. 

*  It  miv  either  Jncrnse  or  lessen  it.  Edit, 


PLEASURES    OF    IMAGINATION.        xix 

The  theory  is  beautiful  and  well  supported.     Illustrations 
of  every  different  species  of  the  ridiculous  are  given  in  the 
Poem,  the  notes  are  judicious,  and  tend  still  more  to  illuci- 
date  the  subject.     Still  it  must  be  confessed  the  thejne  is 
not  a  poetical  one  ;  and  it  may  be  even  questioned  how  far  it 
is  connected  with  the  subject;   for  the  sense  of  ridicule  is  of 
a  very  peculiar  nature,   and   is  hardly  included,  in  common 
language,  among  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination.     If  how- 
ever the  reader  is  inclined  to  be  dissatisfied  with  this  part  of 
his  entertainment,  let  him  recollect,  that  if  it  affords  him  less 
pleasure,  it  probably  cost  the  author  more  pains  than  any 
other  portion  of  his  Poem.     It  is  asserted  that  under  the  ap- 
pellation of  MOMION,  the  writer  has  thrown  out  a  sarcasm, 
not  undeserved,  against  the  celebrated  author  of  the  Dunciad; 
for  surely  no  man  of  a  just  moral  taste  can  reflect,  without 
regret,  that  a  capital  work  of  one  of  our  best  Poets,  composed 
in  the  height  of  his  reputation,  and  during  the  perfection  of 
all  his  powers,   should  have  no  other  end  than  to  gratify  the 
spleen  of  an  offended  author,  and  to  record  the  petty  war- 
fare of  rival  wits.   It  is  an  observation  of  the  excellent  HART- 
LEY, that  those  studies  which  confine  the  mind  within  the 
exercise  of  its  own  powers,  as  criticism,  poetry,   and  most 
philological  pursuits,   are  apt  to  generate  a  supercilious  de- 
portment and  an  anxious  and  selfish  regard  to  reputation  :  v 
whereas  the  pursuit  of  truth,  carrying  the  mind  out  of  itself 
to  large  views  of  nature  and  providence,  fills  it  with  sublime 
and  generous  feelings.     The  remark  must  undoubtedly  be 
taken  with  great  latitude,  but  it  seems  to    be  not  entirely 
unfounded. 

Having  dismissed  the  account  of  Ridicule,  so  little  sus- 
ceptible of  being  adorned  by  his  efforts,  the  Poet  rise*  into  a 
higher  strain,  and  investigates  that  wonderful  phenomenon 
from  whence  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  chiefly  seem  <  to 
arise,  the  mysterious  connection  of  moral  ideas  with  visible 
objects.  Why,  he  asks,  does  the  deep  shade  of  a  thick 
wood  strike  us  with  religious  awe  ?  Why  does  the  light  - 
someness  and  variety  of  a  more  airy  landscape  suggest  to  us 
the  idea  of  gaiety  and  social  mirth  ?  Is  there  really  any  re- 
semblance, or  is  it  owing  to  early  and  frequent  associations  ? 
He  decides  for  tbe  latter,  and  beautifully  illustrates  that  great 
law  on  which  the  power  of  memory  entirely  depends.  This 
leads  him  to  consider  the  powers  of  imagination  as  residing 
in  the  human  mind,  when  after  being  stored  by  means  of 
memory,  with  ideas  of  all  that  is  great  and  beautiful  in  na- 
ture, the  child  of  fancy  combines  and  varies  them  in  a  new 
creation  of  its  own,  from  whence  the  origin  of  Music,  Paint- 
ing, Poetry,  and  all  those  arts  which  give  rise  to  the  second- 
ary or  reflex  pleasures,  referred  to  in  the  latter  part  of  his 
definition.  This  is  accompanied  by  a  glowing  and  animated 
description  of  the  process  of  composition,  written  evidently 
with  the  pleasure  a  person  of  genms  must  have  ft  It,  when  re- 


xx  E  S  S  A  Y    ON    T  HE    &c. 

fleeting  with  conscious   triumph  that  he  is  exercising  the 
'  powers  he  so  well  describes.     He  had  probably  likewise   in 
his  eye  the  well  known  lines  of  SHAKESPEARE, 

The  Poet's  eye  in  a  fine  fren?y  rolling1.     &c. 

The  simile  of  the  Parhelion  is  new  and  beautiful.  The 
harp  of  MEMNON  struck  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  supplies  him 
with  another,  and  the  sympathetic  needles  of  STRADA  with  a 
third,  which  are  the  only  ones  in  the  Poem. 

The  Cause  is  next  considered  of  the  pleasure  which  we  re- 
ceive from  all  that  strikes  us  with  the  sensation  of  Beauty  in 
the  material  world.  Concerning1  this  there  exist  two  opin- 
ions. One,  that  those  objects  we  call  beautiful  are  so  really, 
and  in  their  o\vn  nature,  and  must  appear  so  to  any  being- 
possessed  of  faculties  capable  of  appreciating  them.  The 
other,  that  Beauty  is  a  mere  arbitrary  thing-,  a  sort  of  pleas- 
ing enchantment  sprrad  over  the  face  of  nature,  a  delusion, 
under  which  we  see  charms  that  do  not  at  all1  result  from  the 
real  properties  of  thing's,  and  which  other  intelligent  beings  it 
is  probable  do  not  perceive.  This  latter  opinion  our  author 
has  embraced  as  the  most  philosophical.  It  is  not,  we  pre- 
sume, the  most  pleasing*,  nor  the  most  favourable  to  the  dig- 
nity and  importance  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination  ;  for 
their  boasted  connection  with  truth  vanishes,  except  indeed 
irj  this  sense  that  Beauty  as  an  arbitrarj'  mark  is  used  with 
precision,  and  is  constantly  found  to  denote  the  health  and 
soundness  of  the  object  in  which  it  appears  to  reside,  and 
consequently  is  made  subservient  to  utility  ;  but  the  beautiful 
climax  is  destroyed  by  which  the  inferior  kinds  arc:  connect- 
ed with  moral  Beauty  ;  for  how  can  what  is  real  be  connected 
with  what  is  imaginary  ?  unless  indeed,  what  would  be  a  very 
dangerous  doctrine,  the  sense  of  moral  Beauty  itself  were 
supposed  to  be  dependent  on  our  peculiar  formation,  and 
adapted  only  to  our  present  state  of  existence.  The  Poet  has 
here  closely  copied  from  ADDISON-,  both  in  opening  the 
thought,  and  in  the  simile  with  which  he  illustrates  it.  He 
loses  sight  however  of  this  unpoetical  philosophy  towards 
the  conclusion,  where  having  observed  that  taste  results  from 
the  natural  quickness  of  all  the  perceptions  he  has  enumerat- 
ed, strengthened  by  adequate  culture,  he  observes,  lhat  cul- 
ture will  not  however  destroy  the  peculiar  bias  which  is  im- 
pressed upon  different  minds  towards  the  great,  or  the  soft 
k:ul  beautiful.  This  lie  exemplifies  in  WALLER  and  SHAKE- 
SPEARE. He  then  winds  up  the  whole  by  that  noble  and  ani- 
mated eulogium  on  the  taste  for  the  beauties  of  nature, 

O  blest  of  heaven,  whom  &c. 

Ar.d  having  led  ihe  lover  of  the  fair  and  beautiful  through 
:.'•;  the  different  gradations  of  excellence,  he  leaves  the  mind 
v.-here  alone  it  should  res+,  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Su- 
p»*eme  Excellence,  and  closes  with  the  sublime  idea,  that  in 
admiring  the  works  of  nature,  we  form  our  Uste  upon  the 
•  onceptions  of  the  -Deity  himself. 


PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION; 

A      POEM, 

IN    THREE    BOOKS. 
MDCCXLIV. 


xev  er*v  ewGpawra  ra$  -swp;*,  r5  ©eS 

EPICT.  apud  Arrian.  II,  23. 
God's  bounties  are  reviled  by  the  impioics, 

THE    DESIGN. 

1  HERE  are  certain  powers  in  human  nature  which 
seem  to  hold  a  middle  place  between  the  organs  of  bod- 
ily sense  and  the  faculties  of  moral  perception  :  They 
'have  been  called  by  a  very  general  name,  The  Powers 
of  Imagination.  Like  the  external  senses,  they  relate 
to  matter  and  motion  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  give  the 
mind  ideas  analogous  to  those  of  moral  approbation  and 
dislike.  As  they  are  the  inlets  of  some  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite pleasures  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  it  has 
naturally  happened,  that  men  of  warm  and  sensible 
tempers  have  sought  means  to  recal  the  delightful  per- 
ceptions which  they  afford,  independent  of  the  objects 
which  originally  produced  them.  This  gave  rise  to  the 
imitative  or  designing  arts  ;  some  of  which,  as  painting 

A 


2  T  H  E     D  E  S  I  G  N. 

dnH'  -sciipAure/;c!ji;e,cat\y  V.opy  the  external  appearances 
\vbich  were  admired  in  nature;  others,  as  music  and 
poetry,  bring  them  back  to  remembrance  by  signs  uni- 
versally established  and  understood. 

But  these  arts,  as  they  grew  more  correct  and  delib- 
erate, were  of  course  led  to  extend  their  imitation  be- 
yond the  peculiar  objects  of  the  imaginative  powers; 
especially  poetry,  which,  making  use  of  language  as 
the  instrument  by  which  it  imitates,  is  consequently 
become  an  unlimited  representative  of  every  species  and 
mode  of  being.  Yet,  as  their  intention  was  only  to  ex- 
press the  objects  of  imagination,  and  as  they  still 
abound  chiefly  in  ideas  of  that  class,  they  of  course  re- 
tain their  original  character ;  and  all  the  different  plea- 
sures which  they  excite,  are  termed,  in  general,  Plea- 
sures of  Imagination. 

The  design  of  the  following  poem  is  to  give  a  view  of 
these  in  the  largest  acceptation  of  the  term ;  so  that 
whatever  our  imagination  feels  from  the  agreeable  ap- 
pearances of  nature,  and  all  the  various  entertainment  we 
meet  with  either  in  poetry,  painting,  music,  or  any  of 
the  elegant  arts,  might  be  deducible  from  one  or  other  of 
those  principles  in  the  constitution  of  the  human  mind, 
which  are  here  established  and  explained. 

In  executing  this  general  plan,  it  was  necessary,  first 
of  all,  to  distinguish  the  Imagination  from  our  other 
faculties ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  to  characterise  those 
original  forms  or  properties  of  being,  about  which  it  is 
conversant,  and  which  are  by  nature  adapted  to  it,  as 
ljght.isJ.$  the  eye?,. or  truth  to  the  understanding.  These 
properties  Mr.  Addison  had  reduced  to  the  three  general 
classes  of  GREATNESS,  NOVELTY,  and  BEAUTY;  and 


THE    D  E  S  I  G  N. 

into  these  we  may  analyse  every  object,  however  com- 
plex, which,  properly  speaking,  is  delightful  to  the  im- 
agination. But  such  an  object  may  also  include  many 
other  sources  of  pleasure  ;  and  its  beauty,  or  novelty, 
or  grandeur,  will  make  a  stronger  impression  by  rea- 
son of  this  concurrence.  Besides  which,  the  imitative 
arts,  especially  poetry,  o\\e  much  of  their  efiect  to  a 
similar  exhibition  of  properties  quite  foreign  to  the  ima- 
gination, insomuch,  that  in  every  line  of  the  most  ap- 
plauded poems,  we  meet  with  either  ideas  drawn  from 
the  external  senses,  or  truths  discovered  to  the  under- 
standing, or  illustrations  of  contrivance  and  final  causes, 
or,  above  all  the  rest,  with  circumstances  proper  to 
aii'akcn  and  engage  the  passions.  It  \\as  therefore  ne- 
cessary to  enumerate  and  exemplify  these  different  spe- 
cies of  pleasure ;  especially  that  from  the  passions, 
which,  as  it  is  supreme  in  the  noblest  works  of  human 
genius,  so  being  in  some  particulars  riot  a  little  surpris- 
ing, gave  an  opportunity  to  enliven  the  didactic  turn  of 
the  poem,  by  introducing  an  ALLEGORY  to  account  for 
the  appearance. 

After  these  parts  of  the  subject  which  hold  chiefly 
of  admiration,  or  naturally  warm  and  interest  the  mind; 
a  pleasure  of  a  very  different  nature,  that  which  arises 
from  ridicule,  came  next  to  be  considered.  As  this  is 
the  foundation  of  the  comic  manner  in  all  the  arts,  and 
has  been  but  very  imperfectly  treated  by  moral  writers, 
it  was  thought  proper  to  give  it  a  particular  illustration, 
and  to  distinguish  the  general  sources  from  which  the 
ridicule  of  characters  is  derived.  Here  too  a  change  of 
style  became  necessary ;  such  a  one  as  might  yet  be 
consistent,  if  possible,  with  the  general  taste  of  compo- 


4  T  H  E    D  E  &  I  G  N. 

sition  in  the  serious  parts  of  the  subject :  nor  is  it  aa 
easy  task  to  give  any  tolerable  force  to  images  of  this, 
kind,  without  running  either  into  the  gigantic  expres- 
sions of  the  mock  heroic,  or  the  familiar  and  poetical 
raillery  of  professed  satire;  neither  of  which  would  have 
been  proper  here. 

The  materials  of  all  imitation  being  thus  laid  open, 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  illustrate  some  particular 
pleasures  which  arise  either  from  the  relations  of  differ- 
ent objects  one  to  another,  or  from  the  nature  of  imita- 
tion itself.  Of  the  first  kind  is  that  various  and  com- 
plicated resemblance  existing  between  several  parts  of 
the  material  and  immaterial  worlds,  which  is  the  foun- 
dation of  metaphor  and  wit..  As  it  seems  in  a  great 
measure  to  depend  on  the  early  association  of  our  ideas, 
and  as  this  habit  of  associating  is  the  source  of  many, 
pleasures  and  pains  in  life,  and  on  that  account  bears 
a  great  share  in  the  influence  of  poetry  and  the  other, 
arts,  it  is  therefore  mentioned  here,  and  its  effects  de- 
scribed. Then  follows  a  general  account  of  the  produc^ 
tion  of  these  elegant  arts,  and  of  the  secondary  plea- 
sure, as  it  is  called,  arising  from  the  resemblance  of 
their  imitations  to  the  original  appearances  of  Nature  : 
After  which,  the  work  concludes  with  some  reflections 
on  the  general  conduct  of  the  powers  of  imagination, 
and  on  their  natural  and  moral  usefulness  in  life. 

Concerniiag  the  manner  or  turn  of  composition  which 
prevails  in  this  piece,  little  can  be  said  with  propriety 
by  the  author.  He  had  two  models ;  that  ancient  and 
simple  one  of  the  first  Grecian  poets,  as  it  is  refined  by 
Virgil  in  the  Georgics,  and  the  familiar  epistolary  way 
of  Horace.  This  latter  has  several  advantages.  It  acj;- 


THE    DESIGN.  5 

mits  of  a  greater  variety  of  style ;  it  more  readily  en- 
gages the  generality  of  readers,  as  partaking  more  of 
the  air  of  conversation ;  and,  especially  with  the  assist- 
ance of  rhyme,  leads  to  a  closer  and  more  concise  ex- 
pression. Add  to  this  the  example  of  the  most  perfect 
of  modern  poets,  who  has  so  happily  applied  this  man- 
ner to  the  noblest  parts  of  philosophy,  that  the  public 
taste  is  in  a  great  measure  formed  to  it  alone.  Yet,  af- 
ter all,  the  subject  before  us,  tending  almost  constantly 
to  admiration  and  enthusiasm,  seemed  rather  to  de- 
mand a  more  open,  pathetic  and  figured  style.  This 
too  appeared  more  natural,  as  the  author's  aim  was  not 
so  much  to  give  formal  precepts,  or  enter  into  the  way 
of  direct  argumentation,  as,  by  exhibiting  the  most  in- 
gaging  prospects  of  Nature,  to  enlarge  and  harmonize 
the  imagination,  and  by  that  means  insensibly  dispose 
the  minds  of  men  to  a  similar  taste  arid  habit  of  think- 
ing in  religion,  morale,  and  civil  life.  JTis  on  this  ac- 
count that  he  is  so  careful  to  point  out  the  benevolent  in- 
tention of  the  AUTHOR  OF  NATURE  in  every  principle  of 
the  human  constitution  here  insisted  on ;  and  also  to 
unite  the  moral  excellencies  of  life  in  the  same  point  of 
view  with  the  mere  external  objects  of  good  taste;  thus 
recommending  them  in  common  to  our  natural  propen- 
sity for  admiring  what  is  beautiful  and  lovely.  The 
same  views  have  also  led  him  to  introduce  some  senti- 
ments which  may  perhaps  be  looked  upon  as  not  quite 
direct  to  the  subject ;  but,  since  they  bear  an  obvious 
relation  to  it,  the  authority  of  Virgil,  the  faultless  mo- 
del of  didactic  poetry,  will  best  support  him  in  this  par- 
ticular. For  the  sentiments  themselves,  he  makes  no 
apology. 

B2 


ARGUMENT 

OF 

THE    FIRST    BOOK. 


THE  subject  proposed.  Difficulty  of  treating  it  poetically.  The 
ideas  of  the  divine  mind,  the  origin  of  every  quality  pleasing  to 
the  imagination.  The  natural  variety  of  constitution  in  the  minds 
•f  men,  with  its  final  cause.  The  idea  of  a  fine  imagination, 
and  the  state  of  the  mind  in  the  enjoyment  of  those  pleasures 
which  it  affords.  All  the  primary  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
result  from  the  perception  of  greatness,  or  wonderfulness,  or  beau- 
ty in  objects.  The  pleasure  from  greatness,  with  its  final  cause. 
Pleasure  from  novelty  or  wonderfulness,  with  its  final  cause. 
Pleasure  from  beauty,  with  its  final  cause.  The  connexion  of 
beauty  with  truth  and  good,  applied  to  the  conduct  of  life.  In- 
Titation  to  the  study  of  moral  philosophy,  f  The  different  degrees 
of  beauty  in  different  species  of  objects:  colour;  shape;  natural 
concretes;  vegetables;  animals;  the  mind.  The  sublime,  the 
fair,  the  wonderful  of  the  mind.  The  connexion  of  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  moral  faculty.  \  Conclusion, 


N.  B.  The  figures  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  in  loth  the  Poems, 
refer  to  the  similar  passages  in  each,  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
muy  wish  to  compart  them* 


THE 

PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION. 

BOOK     THE     FIRST* 


WlTH  what  attractive  charms  this  goodly  frame 

Of  nature  touches  the  consenting  hearts 

Of  mortal  men;  and  what  the  pleasing  stores 

Which  beauteous  imitation  thence  derive?, 

To  deck  the  poet's  or  the  painter's  toil ;  5 

My  verse  unfolds.     Attend,  ye  gentle  powers 

Of  musical  delight !  and  while  I  sing 

Your  gifts,  your  honours,  dance  around  my  strain. 

Thou,*  smiling  queen  of  every  tuneful  breast, 

Indulgent  Fancy  !  from  the  fruitful  banks  10 

Of  Avon,  whence  thy  rosy  fingers  cull 

Fresh  flowVs  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf 

Where  Shakespeare  lies,  be  present :  and  with  thee 

Let  Fiction  come,  upon  her  vagrant  wings 

Wafting  ten  thousand  colours  through  the  air  :        15 

Which,  by  the  glances  of  her  magic  eye, 

She  blends  and  shifts  at  will,  through  countless  forms, 

Her  wild  ereat  on.     Goddossf  <;i  the  lyre, 

Which  rules  the  accents  of  the  niorifcg  sphere, 

*  Vide  Book  I,  line  37.  f  Book  J,  line  35. 


8          THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Wilt  *  thou,  eternal  Harmony  !  descend  20 

And  join  this  festive  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  lovely  sports, 

Majestic  Truth  ;  and  where  Truth  deigns  to  come, 

Her  sister  Liberty  will  not  be  far. 

Be  present  all  ye  Genii,  who  conduct       ,  25 

The  wandering  footsteps  of  the  youthful  bard, 

New  to  your  springs  and  shades :  who  touch  his  ear 

With  finer  sounds  :  who  heighten  to  his  eye 

The  bloom  of  nature,  and  before  him  turn 

The  gayest,  happiest  attitude  of  things.  30 

Oft  have  the  laws  of  each  poetic  strain 
The  critic-verse  employed ;  yet  still  unsung 
Lay  this  prime  subject,  though  importing  most 
A  poet's  name  :  for  fruitless  is  the  attempt, 
By  dull  obedience  and  by  creeping  toil,  35 

Obscure  to  conquer  the  severe  ascent 
Of  high  Parnassus.     Nature's  kindling  breath 
Must  fire  the  chosen  genius ;  nature's  hand 
Must  string  his  nerves,  and  imp  his  eagle-wings, 
Impatient  of  the  painful  steep,  to  soar  40 

High  as  the  summit ;  there  to  breathe  at  large 
^Ethereal  air  :  with  bards  and  sages  old, 
Immortal  sons  of  praise.     These  flattering  scenes, 
To  this  neglected  labour  court  my  song ; 
Yet  not  unconscious  what  a  doubtful  task  43 

To  paint  the  finest  features  of  the  mind, 
And  to  most  subtile  and  mysterious  things 
Give  colour,  strength,  and  motion.     But  the  love 
Of  nature  and  the  muses  bids  explore, 
Through  secret  paths  erewhile  untrcd  by  man,  50 

*  Book  I,  line  37. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  I.  £ 

The  fair  poetic  region,  to  detect 

Untasted  springs,  to  drink  inspiring  draughts, 

And  shade  my  temples  with  unfading  flowers 

Cull'd  from  the  laureate  vale's  profound  recess, 

Where  never  poet  gain'd  a  wreath  before.  53 

From  *  heaven  my  strains  begin ;  from  heaven  de- 
scends 

The  flame  of  genius  to  the  human  breast, 
And  love  and  beauty,  and  poetic  joy 
And  inspiration.     Ere  the       -iant  sun 
Sprang  from  the  east,  or  'mud  the  vault  of  night         6O 
The  moon  suspended  her  serener  lamp ; 
Ere  mountains,  woods,  or  streams  adorn'd  the  globe, 
Or  wisdom  taught  the  sons  of  men  her  lore ; 
Then  livM  the  almighty  One  :  then,  deep^retir'd 
In  his  unfathoroM  essence,  view'd  the  forms,  63 

The  forms  eternal  of  created  things; 
The  radiant  sun,  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp, 
The  mountains,  woods  and  streams,  the  rolling  globe^ 
And  wisdom's  mien  celestial :    From  the  first 
Of  days,  on  them  his  love  divine  he  fix'd,  70 

His  admiration  :  till  in  time  compleat, 
What  he  admir'd  and  lov'd,  hjs  vital  smile 
Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath 
Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame; 
Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild  resounding  wares;  73 
Hence  light  and  shade  alternate ;  warmth  and  cold  ; 
And  clear  autumnal  skies  and  vernal  showers, 
And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things. 

But  f  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye 
Js  this  great  sceue  unveiiM.     For  since  the  claims      80 
;  I,  line  98.  |  Hook  I,    line  121, 


10  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  social  life,  to  different  labours  urge 

The  active  powers  of  man ;  with  wise  intent    . 

The  hand  of  nature  on  peculiar  minds 

Imprints  a  different  biass,  and  to  each 

Decrees  its  province  in  the  common  toil.  85 

To  some  she  taught  the  fabric  of  the  sphere, 

The  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  stars, 

The  golden  zones  of  heaven  :  to  some  she  gave 

To  weigh  the  moment  of  eternal  things, 

Of  time,  and  space,  and  fate's  unbroken  chain,  90 

And  will's  quick  impulse  :  others  by  the  hand 

She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 

What  healing  virtue  swells  the  tender  veins 

Of  herbs  and  flowers ;  or  what  the  beams  of  morn 

Draw  forth,  distilling  from  the  clifted  rind  95 

In  balmy  tears.     But  some,  to  higher  hopes 

Were  destined ;  some  within  a  finer  mould 

She  wrought,  arid  tempered  with  a  purer  flame  : 

To  these  the  SIRE  OMNIPOTENT  unfolds 

The  world's  harmonious  volume;  there  to  read        100 

The  transcript  of  himself.     On  every  part 

They  trace  the  bright  impressions  of  his  hand  : 

In  earth  or  air,  the  meadow's  purple  stores, 

The  moon's  mild  radiance,  or  the  virgin's  form 

Blooming  with  rosy  smiles;  they  see  portray'd         105 

That  uncreated  beauty,  which  delights 

The  mind  supreme ;  they  also  feel  her  charms, 

Enamour'd ;  they  partake  the  eternal  joy. 

For  *  as  old  Memnon's  image,  long  renown'd 
By  fabling  Nilus,  to  the  quivering  touch  110 

Of  Titan's  ray,  with  each  repulsive  string 
*  Book  I,  line  150, 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    I.          11 

Consenting,  sounded  through  the  warbling  air 

Unbidden  strains ;  even  so  did  nature's  hand, 

To  certain  species  of  external  things 

Attune  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind  :  115 

So  the  glad  impulse  of  congenial  powers, 

Or  of  sweet  sound,  or  fair  proportioned  form, 

The  grace  of  motion,  or  the  bloom  of  light, 

Thrills  through  imagination's  tender  frame, 

From  nerve  to  nerve  :  all  naked  and  alive  120 

They  catch  the  spreading  rays  :  till  now  the  soul 

At  length  discloses  every  tuneful  spring, 

To  that  harmonious  movement  from  without 

Responsive.     Then  the  inexpressive  strain 

Diffuses  its  inchantment :  Fancy  *  dreams  123 

Of  sacred  fountains  and  Elysian  groves, 

And  vales  of  bliss  :  the  intellectual  power 

Bends  from  his  awful  throne  a  wondering  ear, 

And  smiles :  the  passions  gently  sooth'd  away, 

Sink  to  divine  repose,  and  love  and  joy  130 

Alone  are  waking ;  love  and  joy,  serene 

As  airs  that  fan  the  summer.     O  !  attend, 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  whom  these  delights  can  touch, 

Whose  candid  bosom  the  refining  love 

Of  nature  warms,  O  !  listen  to  my  song;  135 

And  I  will  guide  thee  to  her  favourite  walks, 

And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear, 

And  point  her  loveliest  features  to  thy  view. 

Know  f  then,  whate'er  of  nature's  pregnant  stores, 
Whatever  of  mimic  art's  reflected  forms  140 

With  love  and  admiration  thus  inflame 
The  powers  of  fancy,  her  delighted  sons 

*  Book  I,  line  162.  f  Book  I,  line  180. 


is          THE  PLEASURES 

To  three  illustrious  orders  have  referr'd  ; 

Three  sister-graces,  whom  the  painter's  hand. 

The  poet's  tongue  confesses  ;  the  SUBLIME,  14£ 

The  WONDERFUL,  the  FAIR.     I  see  them  dawn  ! 

I  see  the  radiant  visions,  where  they  rise, 

More  lovely  than  when  Lucifer  displays 

His  beaming  forehead  through  the  gates  of  morn, 

To  lead  the  train  of  Phoebus  and  the  spring.  150 

Say,  *  why  was  man  so  eminently  raised 
Amid  the  vast  creation  ;  why  ordain'd 
Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  piercing  eye, 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame ; 
But  that  the  Omnipotent  might  send  him  forth         15S 
In  sight  of  mortal  and  immortal  powers> 
As  on  a  boundless  theatre,  to  run 
The  great  career  of  justice  ;  to  exalt 
His  generous  aim  to  all  diviner  deeds ; 
To  chase  each  partial  purpose  from  his  breast >         1 60 
*  Book  I,  /zV*I94. 

Say,  why  was  man,  &?c.  ~\  In  apologizing  for  the  frequent  negli- 
gences of  the  sublimest  authors  of  Greece ,  Those  godlike  geniuses, 
says  Longinus,  were  well  assured,  that  Nature  had  7/ot  intended  man 
for  a  low-spirited  or  ignoble  being:  but  bringing  us  into  life  and  the 
midst  of  this  wide  universe,  as  before  a  multitude  assembled  at  some  he- 
7oic  solemnity,  that  toe  might  be  spectators  of  all  her  magnificence,  and 
candidates  high  in  emulation  for  the  prize  of  glory  ;  she  has  therefore 
implanted  in  our  souls  an  inextinguishable  love  of  even/  thing  great  and 
exalted,  of  every  thing  which  appears  divine  beyond  our  comprehension* 
Whence  it  comes  to  pass,  that  even  the  whole  world  is  not  an  object 
sufficient  for  the  depth  and  rapidity  of  humem  imagination,  which  often 
sallies  forth  beyond  the  limits  of  all  that  surrounds  us.  Let  any  mart 
cast  his  eye  through  the  zvhole  circle  of  our  existence,  and  consider  how 
especially  it  abounds  in  excellent  and  grand  objects,  he  will  soon  ac- 
knowledge for  what  enjoyments  and  pursuits  we  were  destined.  Thus 
by  the  very  propensity  of  nature  we  are  led  to  admire,  not  little  springs 
or  shallow  rivulets,  however  clear  and  delicious,  but  the  Nile,  the  Rhine-t 
the  Danube,  and,  much  more  than  all,  the  Ocean,  $*c.  Dionys, 
Longin.  de  Sublim.  J  xxiv. 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK    JL  13 

And  through  the  mist  of  passion  and  of  sense, 
And  through  the  tossing  tide  of  chance  and  pain> 
To  hold  his  course  unfaultering,  while  the  voice 
Of  Truth  and  Virtue,  up  the  steep  ascent 
Of  Nature,  calls  him  to  his  high  reward,  1 65 

The  applauding  smile  of  heaven?  *  Else  wherefore  burns 
In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope, 
That  breathes  from  day  to  day  sublimer  things, 
And  mocks  possession  ?  wherefore  darts  the  mind, 
With  such  resistless  ardour  to  embrace  170 

Majestic  forms ;  impatient  to  be  free, 
Spurning  the  gross  control  of  wilful  might; 
Proud  f  of  the  strong  contention  of  her  toils ; 
Proud  to  be  daring  ?  Who  but  rather  turns 
To  heaven's  broad  fire  his  unconstrained  view>  175 

Than  to  the  glimmering  of  a  waxen  flame  ? 
Who  that,  from  Alpine  heights,  his  labouring  eye 
Shoots  round  the  wide  horizon,  to  survey 
Nilus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  bright  wave 
Through  mountains,  plains,  through  empires  black  with 
shade  1 80 

And  continents  of  sand  ;  will  turn  his  gaze 
To  mark  the  windings  of  a  scanty  rill 
That  murmurs  at  his  feet  ?  The  HIGH-BORN  SOUL 
Disdains  to  rest  her  heaven-aspiring  wing 
Beneath  its  native  quarry.     Tired  of  earth  185 

And  this  diurnal  scene,  she  springs  aloft 
Through  fields  of  air;  pursues  the  flying  storm; 
Rides  on  the  vollied  lightning  through  the  heavens ; 
Or,  yoked  with  whirlwinds  and  the  northern  blast, 
Sweeps  the  long  tract  of  day.  tThen  high  she  soars  ]90 
*  Book  I,  line  210.     f  ^ok  I,    line  223.    J  Book  I,  line  215. 

B 


H  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

The  blue  profound,  and  hovering  round  the  suri, 

Beholds  him  pouring  the  redundant  stream 

Of  light ;  beholds  his  unrelenting  sway 

Bend  the  reluctant  planets,  to  absolve 

The  fated  rounds  of  time.     Thence  far  effused  195 

She  darts  her  swiftness  up  the  long  career 

Of  devious  comets ;  through  its  burning  signs, 

Exulting  measures  the  perennial  wheel 

Of  Nature,  and  looks  back  on  all  the  stars, 

Whose  blended  light,  as  with  a  milky  zone,  200 

Invests  the  orient.     Now  amazed  she  views 

The  empyreal  waste,*  where  happy  spirits  hold, 

Beyond  this  concave  heaven,  their  calm  abode ; 

And  fields  of  radiance,  f  whose  unfading  light 

Has  traveled  the  profound  six  thousand  years,  205 

Nor  yet  arrives  in  sight  of  mortal  things. 

Even  on  the  barriers  of  the  world,  untired, 

She  meditates  the  eternal  depth  below ; 

Till  half  recoiling,  down  the  headlong  steep 

She  plunges ;  soon  o'erwhelmM  and  swallowed  up    21O 

In  that  immense  of  being,  t  There  her  hopes 

Rest  at  the  fated  goal.     For  from  the  birth 

*  V.  20*2.  The  empyreal  waste.  ]  Ne  se peut-il  point  qu'il  y  a  un  grand 
espace  ait  dela  de  la  region  lies  etoiles  ?  Que  ce  soit  le  del  cmpyiet,  ou 
?2»7?,  toujours  cet  etface  immense  qui  environne  toute  cette  region,  pourra 
etre  rempli  de  bonheur  $*  de  g/ozr*.  //  pour r a  etre  cowyr*  comme  Pocean, 
ou  se  rendent  lea  feuvcs  de  tonics  les  creatures  bienkeureuses,  quand 
elles  seront  venues  d  leur  perfection  clans  le  *ysteme  des  ctoiles.  Leib- 
nitz dans  la  Theodicee,  part.  i.  §  19. 

•j«  V.  204.  Whose  unfading  light,  &c.  ]  It  was  a  notion  of  the 
great  Mr.  Hitygens,  that  there  may  be  fixed  stars  at  such  a  distance 
from  our  solar  system,  as  that  their  light  should  not  have  had  time 
to  reach  us,  even  from  the  creation  of  the  world  to  this  day.  Mr. 
Herschell  supposes  that  the  light  of  some  star?1,  discoverable  by  his 
telescopes,  has  probably  taken  some  millions  of  years  to  reach  us  ! ! 
Sec  book  II,  line  234  to  242.  Ed. 

I  Book  I,  line  269. 


IMAGINATION.    BO  OR  I.  15 

Of  mortal  man,  the  SOVRAN  MAKER  said, 

That  not  in  humble  nor  in  brief  delight, 

Not  in  the  fading  echoes  of  Renown,  215 

Power's  purple  robes,  nor  Pleasure's  flowery  lap, 

The  soul  should  find  enjoyment :  but  from  these 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 

Through  all  the  ascent  of  things  enlarge  her  view, 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear,  220 

And  infinite  perfection  close  the  scene. 

Call  now  to  mind  what  high  capacious  powers 
Lie  folded  up  in  man ;  how  far  beyond 
The  praise  of  mortals,  may  the  eternal  growth 
Of  nature,  to  perfection  half  divine,  225 

Expand  the  blooming  soul  ?    What  pity  then 
Should  Sloth's  unkindly  fogs  depress  to  earth 
Her  tender  blossom  ;  choak  the  streams  of  life, 
And  blast  her  spring  !  Far  otherwise  designed 
Almighty  Wisdom  ;  Nature's  happy  cares  230 

The  obedient  heart  far  otherwise  incline. 
Witness  the  sprightly  joy,  when  aught  unknown 
Strikes  the  quick  sense,  and  wakes  each  active  power 
To  brisker  measures ;  *  witness  the  neglect 


*  V.  234.     the  neglect 

Of  all  familiar  prospects,  &c.  ]  It  is  here  said,  that  in  consequence 
of  the  love  of  novelty,  objects  which  at  first  were  highly  delightful 
to  the  mind,  lose  that  effect  by  repeated  attention  to  them.  But 
the  instance  of  habit  is  opposed  to  this  observation;  for  there t  ob- 
jects at  first  distasteful  are  in  time  rendered  entirely  agreeable  by 
repeated  attention. 

The  difficulty  in  this  case  will  be  removed,  if  we  consider,  thatj 
when  objects  at  first  agreeable,  lose  that  influence  by  frequently  re- 
curring1, the  mind  is  wiioly  passive,  and  the  preception  involuntary; 
but  habit,  on  the  other  hand,  generally  supposes  choice  and  activity 
accompanying  it :  so  that  the  pleasure  arises  here  not  from  the  ob- 
ject, but  from  the  mind's  conscious  determination  of  its  own  activity ; 


l«  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  all  familiar  prospects,  though  beheld  235 

With  transport  once ;  the  fond  attentive  gaze 

Of  young  astonishment ;  the  sober  zeal 

Of  Age,  commenting  on  prodigious  things. 

For  such  the  bounteous  Providence  of  heaven. 

In  every  breast  implanting  this  desire  240 

Of  *  objects  new  and  strange,  to  urge  us  on 

With  unremitted  labour  to  pursue 

Those  sacred  stores,  that  wait  the  ripening  soul, 

and  consequently  increases  in  proportion  to  the  frequency  of  that 
determination. 

It  will  still  be  urged  perhaps,  that  a  familiarity  with  disagreeable 
objects  renders  them  at  length  acceptable,  even  when  there  is  no 
r>om  fjr  the  mind  to  resolve  or  act  at  alt.  In  this  case,  the  appear- 
ance must  be  accounted  for,  one  of  these  ways. 

The  pleasure  from  habit  may  be  merely  negative.  The  object  at 
£rst  gave  uneasiness  :  this  uneasiness  gradually  wears  oflfas  the  ob- 
ject grows  familiar:  and  the  mind,  finding  it  at  la.st  entirely  remov- 
ed, reckons  its  situation  really  pleasurable,  compared  with  what  it 
had  experienced  before. 

The  dislike  conceived  of  the  object  at  first,  might  be  owing  to  pre- 
judice or  want  of  attention.  Consequently  the  jnind  being  necessi- 
tated to  review  it  ofiteu,  may  at  length  perceive  its  own  mistake,  and 
be  reconciled  to  what  it  had  looked  on  with  aversion.  In  which  case, 
a  sort  of  instinctive  justice  naturally  leads  it  to  make  amends  for 
the  injury,  by  running  toward  the  other  extreme  of  fondness  and  at- 
tachment. 

Or  lastly,  though  the  object  itself  should  always  continue  dis«. 
agreeable,  yet  circumstances  of  pleasure  or  good  fortune  may  occur 
along  with  it.  Thus  an  association  may  arise  in  the  mind,  and  the 
object  never  be  remembered  without  those  pleasing  circumstances 
attending  it;  by  which  means  the  disagreeable  impression  which  it 
at  first  occasioned  will  in  time  be  quite  obliterated. 


*     V.  240. this  desire 

Of  objects  new  and  strange ]  These  two  ideas  are  often  con- 
founded; though  it  is  evident  the  mere  novelty  of  an  object  makes 
it  agreeable,  even  where  the  mind  is  not  affected  v  ith  the  least  de- 
gree of  wonder:  whereas  wonder  indeed  always  implies  novelty,  being 
never  excited  by  common  or  well-known  appearances.  But  the- 
pleasure  in  both  cases  is  explicable  from  the  same  final  cause,  thtb 
acquisition  of  knowledge  and  enlargement  of  our  views  V  nature  ;,  o% 
this  account,  it  is  natural  to  treat  of  them  together,. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    I.  17 

In  TRUTH'S  exhaustless  bosom.     What  need  words 

To  paint  its  power  ?  For  this  the  daring  youth  24-5 

Breaks  from  his  weeping  mother's  anxious  arms, 

In  foreign  climes  to  rove  :  the  pensive  sage, 

Heedless  of  sleep,  or  midnight's  harmful  damp, 

Hangs  o'er  the  sickly  taper ;  and  untired 

The  virgin  follows,  with  inchanted  step,  250 

The  mazes  of  some  wild  and  wonderous  tale, 

From  morn  to  eve  ;  unmindful  of  her  form, 

Unmindful  of  the  happy  dress  that  stole 

The  wishes  cf  the  youth,  when  every  maid 

With  envy  pined.     Hence,  finally,  by  night  255 

The  village-matron,  round  the  blazing  hearth, 

Suspends  the  infant-audience  with  her  tales, 

Breathing  astonishment !  of  witching  rhimes, 

And  evil  spirits ;  of  the  death-bed  call 

Of  him  who  robb'd  the  widow,  and  devoured  260 

The  orphan's  portion  ;  of  unquiet  souls 

Risen  from  the  grave,  to  ease  the  heavy  guilt 

Of  deeds  in  life  conceal'd ;  of  shapes  that  walk 

At  dead  of  night,  and  clank  their  chains,,  and  wave 

The  torch  of  hell  around  the  murderer's  bed.  265 

At  every  solemn  pause  the  crowd  recoil, 

Gazing  each  other  speechless,  and  congeal'd 

With  shivering  sighs  :  till  eager  for  the  event, 

Around  the  beldam  all  arrect  they  hang, 

Each  trembling  heart  with  grateful  terrors  quell'd.  270 

But  *  lo  !  disclos'd  in  all  her  smiling  pomp, 
Where  BEAUTY  onward  moving,  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  inspire  :  the  freely-flowing  verse 
In  thy  immortal  praise,  O  form  divine  ! 
*  Book  I,  line  280. 

b  2 


13  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Smooths  lier  mellifluent  stream.  Thee,  BEAUTY, 
The  regal  dome,  arid  thy  enlivening  ray 
The  mossy  roofs  adore  :  thou,  better  Sun  ! 
For  ever  beamest  on  the  enchanted  heart 
Love,  and  harmonious  wonder,  and  delight 
Poetic.     Brightest  progeny  of  heaven  !  280 

How  shall  I  trace  thy  features  ?  where  select 
The  roseate  hues  to  emulate  thy  bloom  ? 
Haste  then  my  song,  through  Nature's  wide  expanse, 
Haste  then.,  and  gather  all  her  cpmeliest  wealth, 
Whatever  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains,        285 
Whatever  the  waters>  or  the  liquid  air, 
To  deck  thy  lovely  labour.     *  Wilt  thou  fly 
With  laughing  Autumn  to  the  Atlantic  isles, 
And  range  with  him  the  Hesperian  field  ;  and  see 
Wherever  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove,  290 

The  branches  shoot  with  gold  ;  wherever  his  step 
Marks  the  glad  soil,  the  tender  clusters  grow 
With  purple  ripeness,  and- invest  eaclvhill 
As  with  the  blushes  of  an  evening  sky? 
Or  wilt  thou  rather  stoop  thy  vagrant  plume,  2&S 

Where  gliding  through  his  daughter's  honoured  shades, 
The  smooth  Peneus  from  his  glassy  flood 
Reflects  pu-r pur eal  Temp e's  pleasant  scene  ? 
Fair  Tempe  !  haunt  belov'd  of  Sylvan  powers, 
Of  Nymphs  and  Fauns  ;  where  in  the  Golden  Age.  30O 
They  play'd  in  secret  on  the  shady  brink 
With  ancient  Pan  :  while  round  their  choral  steps. 
Young  Hours  and  genial  gales  with  constant  hand 
Shower 'd  blossoms,  odours,  shower 'd  ambrosial  dews, 
And  Spring's  Elysian  bloom.     Her  flowery  store      305 
*  Book  I,  line  303. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    I,  19 

To  tbee  nor  Tempe  shall  refuse ;  nor  watch 
Of  winged  Hydra,  guard  Hesperian  fruits 
From  thy  free  spoil;     O  bear  then,  unreprov'd, 
Thy  smiling  treasures  to  the  green  recess 
Where  young  Dione  stays.     With  sweetest  airs        310 
Entice  her  forth  to  lend  her  angel-form 
For  Beauty's  honoured  image.*     Hither  turn 
Thy  gracefil  footsteps;  hither  gentle  maid  ! 
Incline  thy  i  olish'd  forehead  :  let  thy  eyes 
Effuse  the  mildness  of  their  azure  dawn  ;  515 

And  may  the  fanning,  breezes  waft  aside 
Thy  radiant  locks :  disclosing,  as  it  bends 
With  airy  softness  from  the  marble  neck, 
The  cheek  fair-blooming  and  the  rosy  lip, 
Where  winning  smiles. and  pleasures  sweet  as  love,  32® 
With  sanctity  and  wisdom,  tempering  blend 
Their  soft  allurement.     Then  the  pleasing  force 
Of  Nature,  and  her  kind  parental  care 
Worthier  I'd  sing  :  then  all  the  enamou.r'd  youth,. 
With  each  admiring  virgin,  to  my  lyre  32£ 

Should  throng  attentive,  while  I  point  on  high, 
Where  BEAUTY'S  living  image,  like  the  morn 
That  wakes  in  Zephyr's  arms  the  blushing  May, 
Moves  onward ;  or  as  Venus,  when  she  stood 
Effulgent  on  the  pearly  car,  and  smiled,  33O 

Fresh  from  the  deep,  and  conscious  of  hei  form,. 
To  see  the  Tritons  tune  their  vocal  shells,. 
And  each  coerulean  sister  of  the  flood, 
With  loud  acclaim  attend  her  o'er  the  waves, 
To  seek  the  Idalian  bow'r.     Ye  smiling  band  335 

Of  youths  and  virgins,  who  through  all  the  maze 
*Book  I,  line  341. 


20  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  young  desire,  with  rival-steps  pursue 

This  charm  of  BEAUTY;  if  the  pleasing  toil 

Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 

Your  favourable  ear,  and  trust  my  words;  340 

I  *  do  not  mean  to  wake  the  gloomy  form 

Of  Superstition  dressed  in  Wisdom's  garb, 

To  damp  your  tender  hopes ;  I  do  not  mean 

To  bid  the  jealous  Thunderer  fire  the  heavens, 

Or  shapes  infernal  rend  the  groaning  earth  345 

To  fright  you  from  your  joys  ;  my  cheerful  song 

With  better  omens  calls  you  to  the  field, 

Pleas'd  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chace, 

And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me,  for  ye  know, 

Does  BEAUTY  ever  deign  to  dwell  where  HEALTH       350 

And  active  USE  are  strangers  ?    Is  her  charm 

Confessed  in  aught,  whose  most  peculiar  ends 

Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?     Or  did  Nature  mean 

This  pleasing  call  the  herald  of  a  lie; 

To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease,  355 

And  catch  with  fair  hypocrisy  the  heart 

Off  idle  faith  ?     O  no  !  with  better  cares 

The  indulgent  mother,  conscious  how  infirm 

Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill, 

By  this  illustrious  image,  in  each  kind  360 

Still  most  illustrious  where  the  object  holds 

Its  native  powers  most  perfect ;  she  by  this 

Illumes  the  headstrong  impulse  of  Desire, 

And  sanctifies  his  choice.     The  generous  glebe 

Whose  bosom  smiles  with  verdure,  the  clear  tract    365 

Of  streams  delicious  to  the  thirsty  soul, 

The  bloom  of  nectar'd  fruitage  ripe  to  sense, 

*  Book  I,  line  394,  f  Book  I,  line  410. 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK   I.  2i 

And  every  charm  of  animated  things, 
Are  only  pledges  of  a  state  sincere, 
The  integrity  and  order  of  their  frame,  370 

When  all  is  well  within,  and  every  end 
Accomplished,  f     Thus  was  BEAUTY  sent  from  heaven, 
The  lovely  ministress  of  TRUTH  and  GOOD 
In  this  dark  world  :  for  TRUTH  and  GOOD  are  one,  % 
f  Book  I,  line  432. 

|  JT.  374.    Truth  and  good  arc  one, 

And  beauty  dwells  in  them,  (3(Y.]  Do  you  imagine,  says 
Socrates  to  Aristippus,  that  vhat  is  good  is  not  beautiful  9  Have  you 
not  observed  that  these  appearances  always  coincide  ?  Virtue,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  same  respect  as  to  which  as?  call  it  good,  is  ever  acknow- 
ledged to  be  beautiful  also-  In  the  characters  of  men  ice  always  # 
join  the  tzco  denominations  together,  T^ke  beauty  of  human  bodies 
corresponds,  in  like  mariner,  zeith  that  economy  of  parts  which  const** 
tutes  them  good ;  and  in  every  circumstance  of  life,  the  same  object  is 
constantly  accounted  both  beautiful  and  good,  inasmuch  as  it  annvers 
the  purposes  for  u.-hich  it  u-«.y  designed.  Xeuophont.  Memorab.  Socrat, 
1.  iii.  c.  8. 

This  excellent  observation  has  been  illustrated  and  extended  by 
the  noble  restorer  of  ancient  philosophy  ;  sec  the  Characterisiicl\s^ 
vol.  ii.  p.  339  and  42*2.  and  vol.  iii.  p.  181.  And  another  ingenious 
author  lias  particularly  shewn,  that  it  holds  in  the  general  laws  of 
nature,  in  the  v^orks  of  art,  and  the  conduct  of  the  sciences.  In' 
quiry  into  the  original  of  our  ideas  of  beaut!/  ttrid  virtue,  Treat,  i.  §  8. 
As  to  the  connection  between  beauty  and  truth,  there  are  two  opin- 
ions concerning  it.  Some  philosophers  assert  an  independent  and 
invariable  law  in  nature,  in-  consequence  of  which  all  rational  beings 
must  alike  perceive  beauty  in  some  certain  proportions,  and  deformity 
in  the  contrary.  And  this  necessity  being  supposed  the  same  v.  It h 
that  which  commands  the  absent  or  dissent  of  the  understanding, 
it  follows  of  course  that  beauty  is  founded  on  the  universal  and  un- 
changeable law  of  truth. 

But  others  there  are,  who  believe  beauty  to  be  merely  a  relative 
nnd  arbitrary  thing;  that  indeed  it  was  a  benevolent  provision  in  na- 
ture to  annex  so  delightful  a  sensation  to  those  objects  which  are 
best  and  most  perfect  in  themselves,  that  so  we  might  be  engaged  to 
the  choice  of  them  at  once  and  without  staying  to  infer  their  -use- 
fulness from  their  structure  and  effects;  but  that  it  is  not  impossible, 
jn  a  physical  sense,  that  two  beings,  of  equal  capacities  for  truth, 

*This  the  Athenians  did  in  a  peculiar  maaner,  by  the  word  xaXoxafaSoft 


22  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

And  BEAUTY  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  her,          375 

With  like  participation  :  wherefore  then, 

O  sons  of  earth  !  would  ye  dissolve  the  tie  ? 

O  wherefore  !  with  a  rash  impetuous  aim, 

Seek  ye  those  flowery  joys  with  which  the  hand 

Of  lavish  Fancy  paints  each  flattering  scene,  380 

Where  Beauty  seems  to  dwell,  nor  once  inquire 

Where  is  the  sanction  of  eternal  Truth, 

Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  Good, 

To  save  your  search  from  folly  !  Wariting  these, 

Lo  !  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace,  385 

And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy 

Did  Fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  let  the  gleam 

Of  youthful  hope,  that  shines  upon  your  hearts, 

Be  chillM  or  clouded  at  this  awful  task, 

To  learn  the  lore  of  undeceitful  Good,  390 

And  Truth  eternal,*     Though  the  poisonous  charms 

Of  baleful  Superstition,   guide  the  feet 

Of  servile  numbers  through  a  dreary  way 

To  their  abode;  through  desarts,  thorns  and  mire, 

And  leave  the  wretched  pilgrim  all  forlorn,  395 

To  muse  at  last,  amid  the  ghostly  gloom 

should  perceive,  one  of  them  beauty,  and  the  other  deformity,  in  the 
same  proportions.  And  upon  this  supposition, .  by  that  truth  which 
is  always  connected  with  beauty,  nothing  more  can  be  meant  than 
the  conformity  of  any  object  to  those  proportions  upon  Vihich,  af- 
ter careful  examination,  the  beauty  of  that  species  is  found  to  de- 
pend. Polycletus,  for  instance,  a  famous  ancient  sculptor,  from 
an  accurate  mensuration  of  the  several  parts  of  the  most  perfect  hu- 
rnan  bodies,  deduced  a  canon  or  system  of  proportions,  which  was 
the  rule  of  all  succeeding  artists.  Suppose  a  statue  modelled  accord- 
ing this:  a  man  of  mere  natural  taste,  upon  looking  at  it,  without 
entering  into  its  proportions,  confesses  and  admires  its  beauty; 
whereas  a  professor  of  the  art  applies  his  measures  to  the  head,  the 
peck,  or  the  hand,  and,  without  attending  to  its  beauty,  pronounces 
the  workmanship  to  be  just  and  true. 

«  Hook  I,  line  «S, 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I.  23 

Of  graves,  and  hoary  vaults,  and  cloister'd  cells ; 
To  walk  with  spectres  through  the  midnight  shade, 
And  to  the  screaming  owl's  accursed  song 
Attune  the  dreadful  workings  of  his  heart;  400 

Yet  be  not  ye  dismayM  ;*  a  gentler  star 
Your  lovely  search  illumines.     From  the  grove 
Where  Wisdom  talkM  with  her  Athenian  sons, 
Could  my  ambitious  hand  intwine  a  wreath 
Of  Plata's  olive  with  the  Marituan  bay,  405 

Then  should  my  powerful  verse  at  once  dispel 
Those  monkish  horrors  :  then  in  light  divine 
Disclose  the  Ely  si  an  prospect,  where  the  steps 
Of  those  whom  Nature  charms,  thro'  blooming  walks, 
Through  fragrant  mountains  and  poetic  streams,      410 
Amid  the  train  of  sages,  heroes,  bards, 
Led  by  their  winged  Genius  and  the  choir 
Of  laurell'd  Science  and  harmonious  Art, 
Proceed  exulting  to  the  eternal  shrine, 
Where  TRUTH  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins,       4J5 
The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway, 
With  GOOD  and  BEAUTY  reigns. f     O  let  not  us, 
Lull'd  by  luxurious  Pleasure's  languid  strain, 
Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot-rage, 
O  let  us  not  a  moment  pause  to  join  420 

That  godlike  band.     And  if  the  gracious  power, 
t  Who  first  awaken'd  my  untutored  song, 
Will  to  my  invocation  breathe  anew 
The  tuneful  spirit ;  then  through  all  our  paths, 
Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre  425 

Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead, 
When  summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart 
*Book  I,  line  472.  f  Book  I,  line  495. 


r 


&*  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Of  Luxury's  allurement;  whether  firm 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 

To  *  urge  bold  Virtue's  unremitted  nerve,  430 

And  wake  the  strong  divinity  of  soul 

That  conquers  Chance  and  Fate ;  or  whether  struck 

For  sounds  of  triumph,  to  proclaim  her  toils 

Upon  the  lofty  summit  ;  round  her  brow 

To  twine  the  wreath  of  incorrupt! ve  praise  ;  433 

To  trace  her  hallow'd  light  through  future  worlds, 

And  bless  heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man. 
Thus  *  with  a  faithful  aim  have  we  presumed. 
Adventurous,  to  delineate  Nature's  form ; 
Whether  in  vast  majestic  pomp  array 'd,  440 

Or  drest  for  pleasing  Wonder,  or  serene 
In  Beauty'?-  rosy  smile.     It  now  remains, 
Through  various  Being's  fair-proportion'd  scale, 
To  trace  the  rising  lustre  of  her  charms, 
From  their  first  twilight,  shining  forth  at  length,     443 
To  full  meridian  splendor.  |THaegree 
The  least  and  lowliest,  in  the  effusive  warmth 
Of  Colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze> 
Doth  Beauty  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  line 
And  variation  of  determin'd  shape,  450 

Where  Truth's  eternal  measures  mark  the  bound 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent 
Unites  this  varied  symmetry  of  parts 
With  Colour's  bland  allurement ;  as  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  azure  bed,  453 

And  painted  shells  indent  their  speckled  wreath. 
Then  more  attractive  rise  the  blooming  forms, 
Through  which  the  breath  of  Nature  has  infused 
#  Book  I,  line  516. 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK   I. 

Her  genial  power,  to  draw  with  pregnant  veins 
Nutritious  moisture  from  the  hounteous  earth, 
In  fruit  and  seed  prolific  :  thus  the  flowers 
Their  purple  honours  with  the  Spring  resume ; 
And  such  the  stately  tree  which  Autumn  bends 
With  blushing  treasures.  *     But  more  lovely  still 
Is  Nature's  charm,  where  to  the  full  consent 
Of  complicated  members,  to  the  bloom 
Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth, 
Life's  holy  flame  and  piercing  sense  are  given, 
And  active  motion  speaks  the  tempered  soul : 
So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno ;  so  the  steed  '  4-70 

"With  rival  ardour  beats  the  dusty  plain, 
And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 
Salute  their  fellows,  f     Thus  doth  BEAUTY  dwell 
There  most  conspicuous,  even  in  outward  shape, 
Where  dawns  the  high  expression  of  a  mind  :  475 

By  steps  conducting  our  inraptured  search 
To  that  ETERNAL  ORIGIN  whose  power, 
Through  all  the  unbounded  symmetry  of  things, 
Like  rays  effulging  from  the  parent  sun, 
This  endless  mixture  of  her  charms  diffused.  480 

MIND,  f  MIND  alone,  bear  witness,  earth  and  heaven  ! 
The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 
Of  BEAUTEOUS  and  SUBLIME  :  here  hand  in  hand, 
Sit  paramount  the  Graces ;  here  enthroned, 
Coelestial  VENUS,  with  divinest  airs,  485 

Invites  the  soul  to  never-fading  joy. 
Look  then  abroad  through  Nature,  to  the  range 
Of  i|  ptatiets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres 

*  Bock  I,  line  538.     .f  Book  I,  line  553.     J  Look  I,  line  563, 
|]  Book  II,  line  36 1, 

c 


26  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense ; 

And  speak,  O  man  !  does  this  capacious  scene         490 

With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 

Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  BRUTUS  rose* 

Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  CESAR'S  fate, 

Amid  the  croud  of  patriots;  and  his  arm 

Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  JOVE  49£ 

When  Guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 

On  TULLY'S  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 

And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail  ! 

For  lo  !  the  Tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust, 

And  Rome  again  is  free  ?  f     Is  aught  so  fair  £00 

In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring, 

In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper  or  the  morn, 

In  Nature's  fairest  forms,  is  ought  so  fair 

As  virtuous  Friendship  ?  as  the  candid  blush 

Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  to  be  just?  505 

The  graceful  tear  that  streams  for  others'  woes  ? 

Or  the  mild  majesty  of  private  life, 

Where  peace  with  ever-blooming  olive  crowns 

The  gate;  where  Honour's  liberal  hands  effuse 

Unenvied  treasures,  and  the  snowy  wings  510 

Of  Innocence  and  Love  protect  the  scene  ? 

Once  more  search,  undismayed,  the  dark  profound 

Where  Nature  works  in  secret ;  view  the  beds 

7 

Of  mineral  treasure,  and  the  eternal  vault 

That  bounds  the  hoary  ocean;  trace  the  forms        515 

Of  atoms  moving  with  incessant  change 

*  As  when  Brutus  rose,  &c.]    Cicero  himself  describes  this 
fact — Cfrsare    interfecto — stal'im  crut /itt'v  a'te  extollens  M.   Brutus 
pugioncm,  ('idroh^m  nor,i>;>alnn    esrcfam&vit     alqve   ci    rccuperatam 
libertatem  eat  ^ratulatus.     <'<i< ;.  V.    •  ;  v11-  1- 
f  Book  II,  line  33t". 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK   I.  27 

Their  elemental  round  ;  behold  the  seeds 

Of  being,  and  the  energy  of  life 

Kindling  the  mass  with  ever-active  flame  : 

Then  to  the  secrets  of  the  working  mind  520 

Attentive  turn ;  from  dim  Oblivion  call 

Her  fleet,  ideal  band;  and  bid  them  go ! 

Break  through  Time's  barrier,  and  overtake  the  hour 

That  saw  the  heavens  created  :  then  declare 

If  aught  were  found  in  those  external- scenes  525 

o 

To  move  thy  wonder  now.  *     For  what  are  all 

The  forms,  which  brute,  unconscious  MATTER  wears, 

Greatness  of  bulk,  or  surnmetry  of  parts  ? 

Not  reaching  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows 

The  superficial  impulse  ;  dull  their  charms,  530 

And  satiate  soon,  and  pall  the  languid  eye. 

Not  f  so  the  MORAL  species,  nor  the  powers 

Of  GENIUS  and  DESIGN;  the  ambitious  mind 

There  sees  herself:  by  these  congenial  forms 

Touched  and  awaken'd,  with  intenser  act  535 

She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well-pleased 

Her  features  in  the  mirror.     For  of  all 

The  inhabitants  of  earth,  to  man  alone 

Creative  WISDOM  gave  to  lift  his  eye 

To  TRUTH'S  eternal  measures;  thence  to  frame         540 

The  sacred  laws  of  Action  and  of  Will, 

Discerning  justice  from  unequal  deeds, 

And  temperance  from  folly.     But  beyond 

This  energy  of  TRUTH,  whose  dictates  bind 

Assenting  Reason,  the  benignant  SIRE,  545 

To  deck  the  honoured  paths  of  JUST  and  GOOD, 

Has  added  bright  IMAGINATION'S  rays  : 

*  £,ocl  II,  line  1:2.  f  S^ok  II,  line  20. 


2?  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Where  *  VIRTUE  rising  from  the  awful  depth 

Of  truth's  mysterious  bosom,  doth  forsake 

The  unadorned  condition  of  her  birth ;  550^ 

And  dressed  by  Fancy  in  ten  thousand  hues, 

Assumes  a  various  feature,  to  attract, 

With  charms  responsive  to  each  gazer's  eye. 

The  hearts  of  men.     Amid  his  rural  walk, 

The  ingenuous  youth,  whom  Solitude  inspires  555 

With  purest  wishes,  from  the  pensive  shade 

Eeholds  HER  moving,  like  a  virgin-muse 

That  wakes  her  lyre  to  some  indulgent  theme 

Of  harmony  and  wonder  :  while  among 

The  herd  of  servile  minds,  HER  strenuous  form          £00 

Indignant  flashes  on  the  patriot's  eye, 

And  through  the  rolls  of  Memory  appeals 

To  ancient  Honour,  or  in  act  serene, 

Yet  watchful,  raises  the  majestic  sword 

Of  public  Power,  from  dark  Ambition's  reach  565 

To  guard  the  sacred  volume  of  the  laws^^ 

GENIUS  OF  ANCIENT  GREECE  !   whose  faithful  steps  f 
Well-pleasM  I  follovv  through  the  sacred  paths 
Of  Nature  and  of  .Science;  nurse  divine 
Of  all  heroic  deeds  and  fair  desires  !  570 

O  !  let  the  breath  of  thy  extended  praise 
Inspire  my  kindling  bosom  to  the  height 
Of  this  untemperM  theme.     Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if,  amid  the  calm 
That  sooths  this  vernal  evening  into  smiles,  575 

*  V.  548.    Where  virtue  rising  from  the  azcful  depth 

Of  Truths  mysterious  bosom,   &.C.J    According  to  the  opin- 
ion of  those  who  assert  moral  obligation  to  be  founded  on  an  immu- 
table and  universal  law,  and  that  pathetic  feeling1,  which  is  'usually 
called  the  moral  sense,  to  be  determined  by  the  peculiar  temp 
of  the  imagination  and  the  earliest  associations  of  ideas, 
t  Bwk  J,  line  690. 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK   I.  29 

I  steal  impatient  from  the  sordid  haunts 

Of  strife  and  low  ambition,  to  attend 

Thy  saqred  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade, 

By  their  malignant  footsteps  ne'er  profaned. 

Descend,  propitious!  to  my  favour'd  eye;  580 

Such  in  thy  mien,  thy  warm,  exalted  air, 

As  when  the  Persian  tyrant,  foil'd  and  stung 

With  shame  and  desperation,  gnash'd  his  teeth 

To  see  thee  rend  the  pageants  of  his  throne; 

And  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear  585 

CrouchM  like  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  SPOILS 

Thy  PALMS,  thy  LAURELS,  thy  triumphal  SONGS, 

Thy  smiling  band  of  ARTS,  thy  godlike  SIRES 

Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  heroic  YOUTH 

Warm  from  the  schools  of  glory.  *    Guide  my  way  590 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  f  walk,  the  green  retreats-. 

Of  Academus,  t  and  the  thymy  valcy 

Where  oft  enchanted  with  Socraiic  .sounds,- 

Ilissus  §  pure  devolv'd  his  tuneful  stream 

In  gentler  murmurs.     From  the  blooming  store        595 

Of  these  auspicious  fields,  may  I  unblamed, 

Transplant  some  living  blossoms  to  adorn 

My  native  clime  :  while  far  above  the  flight 

Of  fancy's  plurne  aspiring,  I  unlock 

The  springs  of  ancient  wisdom;  while  I  join  COO 

Thy  name,  thrice  hontur'd  !  with  the  immortal  praise 

Of  Nature  ;  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 

I  point  the  high  example  of  thy  sons, 

And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre. 

*  Book  I,  line  280.     f-  V.  591.  Lyctum.     The  school  of  AriMle. 

I   V.  592.    Academus:]     The  school  of  Plafo. 
§  V.  594  Ilisius<~\     One  of  the  rivers  on  which  Athens  was  situ- 
ated.    Plato,  in  some  of  his  finest  dialogue;?,  lays  the  ^cene  of  the 
conversation  with  Socrates  on  its  banks, 
C  2 


A  R  G  U  ME  N  T 


THE   SECOND   BOOK. 

THE  separation  of  the  works  of  imagination  from  philosophy,  the 
cause  of  their  abuse  among  the  moderns.  Prospect  of  their  re- 
union under  the  influence  of  public  liberty.  Enumeration  of  ac- 
cidental pleasures,  which  increase  the  effect  of  objects  delightful 
to  the  imagination.  The  pleasures  of  sense.  Particular  circum- 
stances of  the  mind.  Discovery  of  truth.  Perception  of  contriv- 
ance and  design.  Emotion  of  the  passions.  All  the  natural  pas- 
sions partake  of  a  pleasing  sensation  $  with  the  final  cause  of  this 
constitution  illustrated  by  an  allegorical  visiop,  and  exemplified 
in  sorrow,  pity,  terror,  and  indignation. 


T.HE 
P-L.E  AS  U  R  E  S. 

6P 

IMA  a  IN  A  T  I  ON 

B  O  O  K    T  H  E    S  EC  O  N  B^ 


VV  HEN  shall  the  laurel  and  the  vocal  string 

Resume  their  honours  ?     When  shall  we  behold  , 

The  tuneful  tongue,  the  Promethean  hand 

Aspire  to  ancient  praise  ?     Alas  !  how  faint, 

How  slow  the  dawn  of  BEAUTY  and  of  TRUTH  5  , 

Breaks  the  reluctant  shades  of  Gothic  night 

Which  yet  involve  the  nations  !     Long  they  groan'd 

Beneath  the  furies  of  rapacious  Force; 

Oft  as  the  gloomy  North,  with  iron-swarms 

Tempestuous  pouring  from  her  frozen  eaves,  10 

Blasted  the  Italian  shore,  and  swept  the  works 

Of  Liberty  and  Wisdom  down  the  gulph 

Of  all-devouring  night.     As  long  immured 

In  noon -tide  darkness  by  the  glimmering  lamp, 

Each  MUSE  and  each  fair  SCIENCE  pined  away  15 

The  sordid  hours  :  while  foul,  barbarian  hands 

Their  mysteries  profaned,  unstrung  the  lyre, 

And  dlain'd  the  soaring  pinion  down  to  earth. 


32  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

At*  last,  the  muses  rose  and  spurned  their  bonds, 

And,  wildly  warbling,  scattered,  as  they  flew,  20 

Their  blooming  wreaths  from  fair  Valclusa's  bowers  t 

To  Arno's  myrtle  border  and  the  shore  t 

Of  soft  Parthenope.     But  still  the  rage  § 

Of  ^|"  dire  ambition  and  gigantic  power, 

From  public  aims  and  from  the  busy  walk  25 

Of  civil  commerce,  drove  the  bolder  train 

Of  penetrating  science,  to  the  cells, 

Where  studious  ease  consumes  the  silent  hour 

In  shadowy  searches  and  unfruitful  care. 

Thus  from  their  guardians  .torn,  the  tender  arts  f|       30 

*  V.  19.  At  last  the  muses  rose,  &c.^j  About  the  age  of  Hugh  Capet, 
founder  of  the  third  race  of  French  king?,  the  poets  of  Provence  were 
in  high  reputation ;  a  sort  of  strolling  hards  or  rhapsodies,  wiio  vveiit 
about  the  courts  of  princes  and  noblemen,  entertaining, them  at  fes- 
tivals with  music  and  poetrjr.  They  attempted  -both  the  epic,  ode, 
and  satire  j  and  abounded  in  a  wild  and  fantastic  vein  of  fable,  part- 
ly allegorical,  and  partly  founded  on  traditionary  legends  of  the 
Saracen  war?.  These  were  the  rudiments  of  Italian-  poetry.  But 
their  taste  and  composition  must  have  been  extremely  barbarous,  as 
we  may  judge  by  those  who  followed  the  turn  of  their  fable  in  much 
politer  times;  such  as  Boiardn,  Bernardo  Tasso,  Ariosto,  &\c. 

f  V.  21.  Valclusa.*\  The  famous  retreat  of  Francisco  Petrurcha,  the 
father  of  Italian  poetry,  and  his  mistress  [.aura,  a  lady  of  "Avignon. 

{  \r.  2'2.  Arno.']  The  river  which  runs  by  ^Florence,  the  birth  place 
of  Dante  and  iJoccacio* 

§  V.  23.  Parthenope.']  Or  Naples,  the  birth,  place  .of  Sannawo.  The 
great  T'orquato  I'asao  was  born  at  Sorrento  i»  the  kingdom  of  Napier. 

Ibid.  the  rage 

flV.  24.  Of  dire  ambition  <5fc.]  This  relates  to  the  cruel  wars  among 
the  republics  of  Italy,  and  abominable  politics  of  its  little  princes,  about 
the  fifteenth  century.  These  at  last,  in  conjunction  with  (he  papal 
power,  entirely  extinguished  the  spirit. of  liberty  in  that,  country, 
and  established  that  abuse  of  the  fine  arts  which  has  been  since  pro- 
pagated over  all  F.nrope. 

,1  V.  30.  Thus  from  their  guardians  torn,  the  ten<h>r  arts,  &c.]  Nor  *ere 
they  only  losers  by  thi  separation.  For  philosophy  itself,  to  use 
the  words  of  a  nol^le  philosopher,  being  thus  severed  from  the  sprightly 
«/•/•&•  and  scienit:*,  must,  consequently  grow,  dronisk,  insipid,  pedantic, 
uselew,  and  direcll;/  opposite  to  the  teal  knowledge  and  practice  of  the 
world.  Innomnch  that  a  gentleman,  says  another  excellent  writer, 
cannot  easily  bring  him.df  to  like  so  austere  and  ungainly  a  form:  ti> 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK  IF.          3$ 

Of  mimic  fancy  and  harmonious  joy, 

To  priestly  domination  and  the  lust 

Of  lawless  courts,  their  amiable  toil 

For  three  inglorious  ages  have  resigned ; 

In  vain  reluctant :  and  Torquato's  tongue  35 

Was  tuned  for  slavish  paeans  at  the  throne 

Of  tinsel  pomp  :  and  Raphael's  magic  hand 

Effused  its  fair  creation  to  enchant 

The  fond  adoring  herd  in  Lallan  fanes 

To  blind  belief;  while  on  their  prostrate  necks  40 

The  sable  tyrant  plants  his  heel  secure. 

But  now,  behold  !  the  radiant  sera  dawns, 

When  Freedom's  ample  fabric,  hVd  at  length 

For  endless  years  on  Albion's  happy  shore 

In  full  proportion,  once  more  shall  extend  4.5 

To  all  the  kindred  powers  of  social  bliss 

A  common  mansion,  a  parental  roof. 

There  shall  the  Virtues,  there  shall  \yisdoin's  train, 

Their  long-lost  friends  /ejcining1,  as  of  old. 

Embrace  the  smiling  family  of  Arts,  50 

The  Muses  and  the  Grace?.     Then  no  more 

Shall  vice,  distracting  their  delicious  gifts 


pleasure  of  observing  a  very  great  progress  made  towards  their  union 
in  England  within  these  few  years.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive 
them  at  a  greater  distance  from  each  other  than  at  the  Revolution, 
when  Locke  stood  at  the  head  of  one  party,  and  Dryden  of  the 
other.  But  the  general  spirit  of  liberty,  which  has  ever  since  been 
gr6wiiig,  naturally  invited  our  men  of  wit  and  genius  to  impnne 
that  influence,  which  the  arts  of  persuasion  gave  them  with  the  peo- 
ple, by  applying  them  to  subjects  of  importance  to  society.  Thus/ 
poetry  and  eloquence  became  considerable;  and  philosophy  is  now 
of  course  obliged  to  borrow  of  their  embclii  hiiical-,  in  ouVv 


to  gain  audience  \\iLh  the  nublic 


54?  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

To  aims  abhorred,  with  high  distaste  and  scorn 

Turn  from  their  charms  the  philosophic  eye, 

The  patriot-bosom ;  then  no  more  the  paths  55 

Of  public  care  or  intellectual  toil, 

Alone  by  footsteps  haughty  and  severe, 

In  gloomy  state  be  trod  :  the  harmonious  Muse 

And  her  persuasive  sisters  then  shall  plant 

Their  sheltering  laurels  o'er  the  bleak  ascent,  (iO 

And  scatter  flowers  along  the  rugged  way. 

Arm'd  with  the  lyre,  already  have  we  dared 

To  pierce  divine  Philosophy's  retreats, 

And  teach  the  Muse  her  lore ;  already  strove 

Their  long-divided  honours  to  unite,  &5 

While  tempering  this  deep  argument  we  sang 

Of  TRUTH  and  BEAUTY.  ^TCow  the  same  glad  task 

Impends;  now  urging  our  ambitious  toil, 

We  hasten  to  reeount.the  various  springs 

Of  adventitious  pleasure,  which, adjoin  7@ 

Their  grateful  influence  to  the  prime  effect 

Of  objects  GRAND  or  BEAUTEOUS,  and  inlarge 

The  complicated  joy.     The  sweets  of  sense, 

Bo  they  not  oft  with  kind  accession  flow, 

To  raise  harmonious  Fancy's  native  charm?  75 

So  while  we  taste  the  fragrance  of  the  Rose, 

O  B 

Glows  not  her  blush  the  fairer  ?     While  we  view 

Amid  the  noontide  walk  a  limpid  rill 

Gush  through  the  trickling  herbage,  to  the  thirst 

Of  summer,  yielding  the  delicious  draught  80 

Of  cool  refreshment;  o'er  the  mossy  brink 

Shines  not  the  surface  clearer,  and  the  waves 

With  sweeter  music  murmur  as  they  flow  ?.. 


.    rvror  this  alone  ;  the  various  lot  of  life 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK    II.  35 

Oft  from  external  circumstance,  assumes  85 

A  moment's  disposition  to  rejoice 

<In  those  delights,  which  at  a  different  hour 

unheeded.     Fair  the  face  of  Spring, 


When  rural  songs  and  odours  wake  the  morn, 
To  every  eye  ;  but  how  much  more  to  his  90 

Round  whom  the  bed  of  sickness  long  diffused 
Its  melancholy  gloom  !  how  doubly  fair, 
When  first  with  fresh-born  vigour  he  inhales 
The  balmy  breeze,  and  feels  the  blessed  sun 
Warm  at  his  bosom,  from  the  springs  of  life  95 

Chasing  oppressive  damps  and  languid  pain  ! 
Or  shall  I  mention,  where  coelestial  TRUTH 
Her  awful  light  discloses,  to  bestow 

pomp  on  BEAUTY'S  frame  ? 


(I  For  man  loves  knowledge,  and  the  beams  of  truth     100 
;•  More  welcome  touch  his  understanding's  eye, 
Than  all  the  blandishments  of  sound  his  ear, 
Than  all  of  taste  his  tongue.     Nor  ever  yet 
The  meltinor  rainbow's  vernal-tinctured  hues 

o 

To  me  have  shone  so  pleasing,  as  when  first  105 

The  hand  of  science  pointed  out  the  puth 

In  which  the  sun-beams,  gleaming  from  the  West, 

Fall  on  the  watery  cloud,  whose  darksome  veil 

Involves  the  orient  ;  and  that  trickling  shower 

Piercing  through  every  crystalline  convex  1  10 

Of  clustering  dew-drops  to  their  flight  opposed, 

Recoil  at  length  where  concave  all  behind, 

The  internal  surface  of  each  glassy  orb 

Repels  their  forward  passage  into  air  ; 

That  thence  direct  they  seek  the  radiant  goal,  1  1:*5 

From  which  their  course  began,  and,  a$  they  strike 


55  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

In  different  lines  the  gazer's  olvlous  eye, 

Assume  a  different  lustre,  through  the  brede 

Of  colours  changing  from  the  splendid  rose 

To  the  pale  violet's  dejected  liue.  120 

Or  shall  we  touch  that  kind  access  of  joy, 
That  springs  to  each  fair  object,  while  we  trace 
Through  all  its  fabric,  WISDOM'S  artful  aim 
Disposing  every  part,  and  gaining  still 
By  means  proportioned,  her  benignant  END  ?  125 

Speak,  ye,  the  pure  delight  whose  favoured  steps 
The  lamp  of  science  through  the  jealous  maze 
Of  Nature  guides,  when  haply*  you  reveal 
Her  secret  honours  :  whether  rn  the  sky, 
The  beauteous  laws  of  light,  the  central  powers         130 
That  wheel  the  pensile  planets  round  the  year; 
Whether  in  wonders  of  the  rolling  deep, 
Or  the  rich  fruits  of  all-sustaining  earth, 
Or  fine-adjusted  springs  of  life  and  sense, 
Ye  scan  the  counsels  of  "their  AUTHOR'S  hand.  135 

What,  when  to  raise  the  meditated  scene, 
The  flame  of  PASSION,  through  the  struggling  soul 
Deep-kindled,  shows  across  that  sudden  blaze 
The  OBJECT  of  its  rapture,  vast  of  size, 
With  fiercer  colours  and  a  night  of  shade  ?  140 

What  ?  like  a  storm  from  their  capacious  bed 
The  sounding  seas  o'erwhelming>  when  the  might 
Of  these 'eruptions,  working  from  the  depth 
Of  man's  strong  apprehension,  shakes  his  frame 
Even  to  the  base;  from  every  naked  sense  145 

Of  pain  or  pleasure  dissipating  all 
Opinion's  feeble  coverings,  and  the  veil 
Spun  from  the  cobweb  fashion  of  the  times 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   II.  37 

To  hide  the  feeling  heart  ?  Then  Nature  speaks 

Her  genuine  language,  and  the  words  of  men,  150 

Big  with  the  very  motion  of  their  souls, 

Declare  with  what  accumulated  force, 

The  impetuous  nerve  of  PASSION  urges  on 

The  native  weight  and  energy  of  things. 

Yet  more:  her  honours  where  nor  Beauty  claims,  155 
Nor  shews  of  good  the  thirsty  sense  allure, 
From  *  passion's  power  alone  our  nature  holds 
Essential  pleasure.     Passion's  fierce  illapse 
Rouses  the 'mind's  whole  fabric;  with  supplies 
Of  daily  impulse  keeps  the  elastic  powers  160 

Intensely  poized,  and  polishes  anew 
By  that  collision  all  the  fine  machine  : 
Else  rust  would  rise,  and  foulness  by  degrees 
-  Incumbering,  choak  at  last  what  Heaven  designed 
For  ceaseless  motion,  and  a  round  of  toil.  1 65 

';— But  say,  does  every  passion  thus  to  man 
Administer  delight?  That  name  indeed 
Becomes  the  rosy  breath  of  love ;  becomes 


*.  V  157.  FromPassiori's  power  alone,  Sfc.  ]  This  very  mysterious 
Kind  of  pleasure,  which  is  often  found  in  the  exercise  of  passions 
generally  counted  painful,  has  been  taken  notice  of  by  several 
authors.  Lucretius  resolves  it  into  self-love  : 

Suave  man  magno,   &c.  lib.  ii.  1. 

As  if  a  man  was  never  pleased  in  being  moved  at  the  distress  of  a 
tragedy,  without  a  cool  reflection  that  though  these  fictitious  per- 
sonages where  so  unhappy,  yet  he  himself  was  perfectly  at  ease  and 
in  safety.  The  ingenious  author  of  the  Reflections  critiques  sur  la 
Poesie  ft  sur  la  Peinture,  accounts  for  it  by  the  general  delight 
which  the,  mind  takes  in  its  own  activity,  and  the  abhorrence  ft 
feels  of  an  indolent  and  inattentive  state  :  and  this,  joined  with  the 
moral  approbation  of  its  own  temper,  which  attends  these  emotions 
when  natural  and  just,  is  certainly  the  true  foundation  of  the  pleas- 
ure, which,  as  it  is  the  origin  and  basis  of  tragedy  and  epic,  de- 
served a  very  particular  consideration  in  this  poem. 

D 


38  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

The  radiant  smiles  of  joy,  the  applauding  hand 

Of  admiration  ;  but  the  bitter  shower  170 

That  sorrow  sheds  upon  a  brother's  grave, 

But  the  dumb  palsy  of  nocturnal  fear, 

Or  those  consuming  fires  that  gnaw  the  heart 

Of  panting  indignation,  find  we  there 

To  move  delight  ?  Then  listen,  while  my  tongue      175 

The  unaltered  will  of  Heaven  with  faithful  awe 

Reveals ;  what  old  HARMODIUS  wont  to  teach 

My  early  age ;  HAUMODIUS,  who  had  weighed 

Within  his  learned  mind  whatever  the  schools 

Of  wisdom,  or  thy  lonely- whispering  voice,  180 

O  faithful  Nature  !  dictate  of  the  laws 

Which  govern  and  support  this  mighty  frame 

Of  universal  being.     Oft  the  hours, 

From  morn  to  eve,  have  stolen  unrnark'd  away, 

While  mute  attention  hung  upon  his  lips,  1 85 

As  thus  the  sage  his  awful  tale  began. 

'Twas  in  the  windings  of  an  ancient  wood, 
When  spotless  youth  with  solitude,  resigns 
To  sweet  philosophy  the  studious  day, 
What  time  pale  Autumn  shades  the  silent  eve,         190 
Musing  1  roved.     Of  GOOD  and  EVIL  much, 
And  much  of  mortal  MAN  my  thought  revolved  ; 
When  started  full  on  Fancy's  gushing  eye, 
The  mournful  image  of  PARTHENIA'S  fate  : 
That  hour,  O  long  beloved  and  long  deplored  !         195 
When  blooming  Youth,  nor  gentlest  Wisdom's  arts, 
Ner  Hymen's  honours  gathered  for  thy  brow, 
Nor  all  thy  Lover's,  all  thy  Father's  tears 
Availed  to  snatch  thee  from  the  cruel  grave  : 
Thy  agonizing  looks,  thy  last  farewel  200 


IMAGINATION;    BOOK    II.          39 

Struck  to  the  inmost  feeling  ©f  my  soul, 

As  with  the  hand  <>f  death.     At  once  the  shade 

More  horrid  nodded  o'er  me,  and  the  winds 

With  hoarser  murmuring  shook  the  branches.     Dark 

As  midnight  storms,  the  scene  of  human  things       205 

Appeared  before  me;  desarts,  burning  sands, 

Where  the  parch'd  adder  dies ;  the  frozen  South, 

And  Desolation  blasting  all  the  West 

With  rapine  and  with  murder :  tyrant  Power 

Here  sits  enthroned  with  blood ;  the  baleful  charms  210 

Of  Superstition  there  infect  the  skies, 

And  turn  the  SUR  to  horror.     Gracious  Heaven  ! 

What  is  the  life  of  man  ?     Or  cannot  these, 

Not  these  portents  thy  awful  will  suffice  ? 

That,  propagated  thus  beyond  their  scope,  215 

They  rise  to  act  their  cruelties  anew 

In  my  afflicted  bosom ;  thus  decreed 

The  universal  sensitive  of  Pain, 

The  wretched  heir  of  evils,  not  its  own  ! 

Thus  I  impatient ;  when,  at  once  effused,  220 

A  flashing  torrent  of  coelestiai  day 
Burst  through  the  shadowy  void.     With  slow  descent 
A  purple  cloud  came  floating  through  the  sky, 
And  poized  at  length  within  the  circling  trees, 
Hung  obvious  to  my  view  ;  till  opening  wide  225 

Its  lucid  orb,  a  more  than  human  form 
Emerging,  leaned  majestic  o'er  my  head, 
And  instant  thunder  shook  the  conscious  grove. 
Then  melted  into  air  the  liquid  cloud, 
And  all  the  shining  vision" stood  reveal'd.  230 

A  wreath  of  palm  his  ample  forehead  bound, 
And  o'er  his  shoulder,  mantling  to  his  knee, 


40  I H  E   PL E  AS  U  R-E  S    Of 

Flow'd  the  transparent  robe,  around  his  waist 

Collected  with  a  radiant  zone  of  gold 

^Ethereal :  there  in  mystic  signs  ingraved  235 

I  read  his  office  high  and  sacred  name, 

GENIUS  OF  HUMAN  KIND.     Appall'd  I  gazed 

The  godlike  presence;  for  athwart  his  brow 

Displeasure,  temper'd  with  a  mild  concern, 

Looked  down  reluctant  on  me,  and  his  words  240-., 

Like  distant  thunders  broke  the  murmuring  air. 

Vain  are  thy  thoughts,  O  child  of  mortal  birth ! 
And  impotent  thy  tongue.     Is  thy  short  span 
Capacious  of, this  universal  frame  ? 
Thy  wisdom  all-sufficient  ?     Thou,  alas  !  24-5 

Dost  tUou  aspire  to  judge  between  the  LORE> 
Of  Nature  and  his  works  ?  to  lift  thy  voice 
Against  the  sovran  order  he  decreed, 
All  GOOD  and  LOVELY  ?  to  blaspheme  the  bands 
Of  tenderness  innate  and  social  love,  250 

Holiest  of  things  !   by  which  the  general  orb 
Of  being,  as  by  adamantine  links, 
Was  drawn  to  perfect  union  arid  sustained 
From  everlasting?     Hast  thou  felt  the  pangs 
Of  softening  sorrow,  of  indignant  zeal  255 

So  grievous  to  the  soul,  as  thence  to  wish 
The  ties  of  Nature  broken  from  thy  frame ; 
That  so  thy  selfish,  unrelenting  heart 
Might  cease  to  mourn  its  lot,  no  longer  then 
The  wretched  heir  of  evils  not  its  own  ?  260' 

O  fair  benevolence  of  generous  minds  ! 
O  man  by  Nature  fornVd  for  all  mankind  ! 

He  spoke;  abash 'd  arid  silent  I  remain'd, 
As  conscious  of  my  tongue's  offence,  and 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    II.  41 

Before  his  presence,  though  my  secret  soul  265 

Disdain'd  the  imputation.     On  the  ground 

I  fix'd  my  eyes ;  till  from  his  airy  couch 

He  stoop'd  sublime,  and  touching  with  his  hand 

My  dazzled  forehead,  Raise  thy  sight,  he  cried, 

And  let  thy  sense  convince  thy  erring  tongue.          270 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  the  former  scene  was  changed ; 
For  verdant  alleys  and  surrounding  trees, 
A  solitary  prospect,  wide  and  wild, 
Rtish'd  on  my  senses.     'Twas  a  horrid  pile 
Of  hills  with  many  a  shaggy  forest  mix'd,  275 

With  many  a  sable  cliff  and  glittering  stream. 
Aloft  recumbent  o'er  the  hanging  ridge, 
The  brown  woods  .wav,ed ;  while  ever-trickling  springs, 
Wash 'd  from  the  naked  roots  of  oak  and  pine, 
The  crumbling  soil;  and  still  at  every  fall  280 

Down  the  steep  windings  of  the  channeled  rock, 
Remurmuring  rush'cl  the  congregated  floods- 
With  hoarser  inundation  ;  till  at  last 
They  reached  a  grassy  plain,  which  from  the  skirts 
Of  that  high  desart  spread  her  verdant  lap,  285 

And  drank  the  gushing  moisture,  where  confined 
In  one  smooth  current,  o'er  the  lilie'd  vale 
Clearer  than  glass  it  flow'd.     Autumnal  spoils 
Luxuriant  spreading  to  the  rays  of  morn, 
Blush'd  o'er  the  cliffs,  whose  half-incircling  mound  290 
As  in  a  sylvan  theatre  inclosed 
That  flowery  level.     On  the  riverVbrkik 
I  spied  a  fair  pavilion,  which  diffused. 
Its  floating  umbrage  'mid  the  silver  shade 
Of  osiers.     Now  the  western  sun  reveal'd  295 

Between  two  parting  cliffs  his  p-olden  orb, 
T)  2  v 


42  THE   PLEASURES   u 

And  pour'd  across  the  shadow  of  the  hills, 
On  rocks  and  floods,  a  yellow  stream  of  light 
That  cheer'd  the  solemn  scene.     My  listening  powers 
Were  awed,  and  every  thought  in  silence  hung,       30O 
And  wondering  expectation.     Then  the  voice 
Of  that  coelestial  power,  the  mystic  show 
Declaring,  thus  my  deep  attention  calFd. 
Inhabitant  of  earth,  *  to  whom  is  given 

*,_V.  304.  Inhabitant  of  earth,  &c.]  The  account  of  the  ceconomy 
of  providence  here  introduced,  as  the  most  proper  to  calm  and  sa- 
tisfy the  mind  when  under  the  compunction  of  private  evils,  seems 
to  have  come  originally  from  the  Pythagorean  school :  but  of  the 
ancient  philosophers,  Plato  has  most  largely  insisted  upon  it,  has 
established  it  with  all  the  strength  of  his  capacious  understanding,  and 
ennobled  it  with  all  the  magui licence  of  his  divine  imagination.  He 
has  one  passage  so  full  and  clear  on  this  head,  that  I  am  persuaded 
the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  see  it  here,  though  somewhat  long. 
Addressing  himself  to  such  as  are  not  satisfied  concerning  divine 
providence :  The  Being  who  presides  over  the  whole,  says  he,  has 
disposed  and  complicated  all  things  for  the  happiness  and  virtue  of  the 
whole,  ever'/  part  of  tohich,  according  to  the  extent  of  its  influence* 
does  and  stiffen  what  is  Jit  and  proper.  One  of  these  parts  is  yours,  O 
unhappy  man,  which  though  in  itself  most  inconsiderable  and  minute, 
yet  being  connected  with  the  universe,  ever  seeks  to  co-operate  with 
that  supreme  order.  You  in  the  mean  time  are  ignorant  vf  the  very 
end  for  which  all  particular  natures  are  brought  into  existence,  that  the 
all-comprehending  nature  of  the  ivhole  may  be  perfect  and  happy  ;  ex- 
isting, as  it  does,  not  for  your  sake,  but  the  cause  and  reason  of  your 
existence,  which,  as  in  the  symmetry  of  every  artificial  wjork,  must  of 
necessity  concur  with  the  general  design  of  the  artist,  and  be  subservi* 
ent  to  the  whole  of  which  it  is  a  part.  Your  complaint  therefore  is  ig- 
norant and  groundless ;  since,  according  to  the  various  energy  of  cre- 
ation, and  the  common  laws  of  nature)  there  is  a  constant  provision  of 
that  which  is  best  at  the  same  time  for  you  and  for  the  whole, — For  the 
governing  Intelligence  clearly  beholding  all  the  actions  of  animated  and 
self-moving  creatures,,  arid  that  mixture  of  good  and  evil  which  diversi- 
fies them,  considered  first  of  all  by  what  disposition  of  things,  and  by 
what  situation  of  each  individual  in  the  general  system,  vice  might  be 
depressed  a  d  subdued,  arid  virtue  made  secure  of  victory  and  happi- 
ness with  the  greatest  facility  and  in  the  highest  degree  possible:  In 
this  manner  he  ordered  through  the  entire  circle  of  being,  the  internal 
constitution  of  every  mind,  where  should  be  its  station  in  the  universal 
fabric,  and  through  what  variety  of  circumstances  it  should  proceed  in 
the  whole  tenor  of  its  existence.  He  goes  on  in  his  sublime  manner 
to  assert  a  future  state  of  retribution,  as  well  for  those  who,  by  the 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK   II.  43 

The  gracious  ways  of  Providence  to  learn,  305 

Receive  my  sayings  with  a  steadfast  ear- 
Know  then,  the  SOVRAN  SPIRIT  of  the  world, 
Though  self-collected  from  eternal  time, 
Within  his  own  deep  essence  he  beheld 
The  bounds  of  true  Felicity  complete  ;.,  3 1 0 

Yet  by  immense  benignity  inclined 
To  spread  around  him  that  primaeval  joy 
Which  fiird  himself,  he  raised  his  plastic  arm, 
And  sounded,  through  the  hollow  depth  of  space 
The  strong,  creative  mandate.     Strait  arose  31.5 

These  heavenly  orbs,  the  glad  abodes  of  life, 
Effusive  kindled  by  his  breath  divine 
Through  endless  forms  of  .being.     Each  inhaled 
From  him  its  portion  of  the  vital  flame, 
In  measure  such,  that,  from  the  wide  complex          320, 
Of  co-existent  orders  *  one  might  rise, 
One  order,  all- involving  and  entire. 
He  too  beholding,  in  the  sacred  light 
Of  his  essential  reason,  all  the  shapes 
Of  swift  contingence,  all  successive  ties  325 

Of  action  propagated  through  the  sum 

exercise  of  good  dispositions  being  harmonized  and  assimilated  to  the 
divine  virtue,  are  consequently  removed  to  a  place  of  unblemished  sanc- 
tity and  happiness ;  as  of  those  who  by  the  most  Jlagitious*  arts  have 
ri^en  from  contemptible  beginnings  to  the  greatest  .ajf hi  ence  and  power, 
and  whom  you  therefore  look  upon  as  unanswerable  instances  of  negli- 
gence in  the  gods,  because  you  are  ignorant  of  the  purposes  to  which 
they  are  subservient,  and  in  what  manner  they  contribute  to  that  su- 
preme intention  of  good  to  the  whole.  Plato  de  Leg.  x.  16. 

This  theory  has  been  delivered  of  late,  especially  abroad,  in  a 
manner  which  subverts  the  freedom  of  human  actions;  whereas 
Plato  appears  very  careful  to  preserve  it,  and  has  been  in  that 
respect  imitated  by  the  best  of  his  followers. 

*  V.  321.  one  might  rLe, 

One  order,  $V.]     S'ee  the  Meditations  of  Antoninus 
and  the  Characteristics  of  Lord  Shaftsbury,  passim. 


44-  T-HE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  possible  existence,  he  at  once, 

Down  the  long  series  of  eventful  time, 

So  *  fix'd  the  dates  of  being,  so  disposed, 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind,  330 

The  field  of  motion  and  the  hour  of  rest, 

That  all  conspired  to  his  supreme  design, 

To  universal  good  :  with  full  accord 

o 

Answering  the  mighty  model  he  had  chosen, 
The  best  and  fairest  f  of  unnumbered  worlds  335 

That  lay, from  ever Jasting  in  the  store 
•  Of  his  divine  conceptions, .   Nor  content, 
By  one  exertion  of  creative  power 
His  goodness  to  reveal ;  through  every  age. 
Through  every  moment  up  the  tract. of  time  34-0 

His  parent-hand  with  ever-new  increase 
Of  happiness  and  virtue  has  adorn M 
The  vast  harmonious  frame  :  his  j  parent-hand^ 
From  the  mute  shell-fish  gasping  on  the  shore* 
To  men,  to  angels,  to  ccelestial  minds,  345 

For  ever  leads  the  generations  on 
T©  higher  scenes  of  being  ;  while  supplied 
From  day  to  day  with'his  enlivening  breath, 
Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 

*  Book  II,  line  247. 

f  V.  335.  The  best  and  fairest,  $V.]  This  opinion  is  so  old,  that 
Tisncrus  l.ocrus  calls  the,  supreme  being;  Jn^ojpyo^  ru  Bitei'ivO*, 
the  artificer  of  that  which  is  best ;  and  represents  him  as  resolving  in 
i lie ••  beginning  to  produce  the  most  excellent  work,  and  as  copying 
the  world  most  exactly  from  his  own  intelligible  and  essential  idea ; 
so  that  it  yet  remains,  as  it  was  at  first,  perfect  in  beauty,  and  ivill 
never  .stand  in  need  of  any  correction  or  improvement.  There  can  be 
no  room  for  a  caution  here,  to  understand  the  expressions,  not  of 
any  particular  circumstances  of  human  life  separately  considered, 
but  of  the  sum  or  universal  system  of  life  and  being.  See  also  the 
>  Lsion  at  the  end  of  the  Theodicte  of  Leibwlz. 
J  Book  IT,  line  257. 


IMAGINATION,     B  O  O  K  II.          45 

To  fill  the  void  below.     As  *  flame  ascends,  35  0 

As  bodies  to  their  proper  centre  move, 

As  the  poized  ocean  to  the  attracting  moon 

Obedient  swells,  and  every  headlong  stream 

Devolves  its  winding  waters  to  the  main  ; 

So  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  GOD,  355 

The  sun  of  being,  boundless,  unimpaired 

Centre  of  souls  !  Nor  does  the  faithful  voice 

Of  Nature  cease  to  prompt  their  eager  steps 

Aright;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 

From  granting  to  the  task  proportioned  aid  ;  36'0 

That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere 

To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 

For  ever  nearer  to  the  life  divine. 

That  rocky  pile  thou  see'st,  that  verdant  lawn 
Fresh- watered  from  the  mountains.    Let  the  scene    365 

Paint  in  thy  fancy  the  primaeval  seat 

Of  man,  and  where  the  will  supreme  ordain'd 

His  mansion,  that  pavilion  fair-diffused 

Along  the  shady  brink  ;  in  this  recess 

To  wear  the  appointed  season  of  his  youth,  37O 

Till  riper  hours  should  open  to  his  toil 

The  high  communion  of  superior  mind^ 

Of  consecrated  heroes  and  of  gods. 

Nor  did  the  SIRE  OMNIPOTENT  forget 

His  tender  bloom  to  cherish;  nor  withheld  375 

Coelestial  footsteps  from  his  green  abode. 

Oft  from  the  radiant  honours  of  his  throne, 

He  sent  whom  most  he  loved,  the  SOVRAN  FAIR 

*  V.  350,  As  jiame  ascenJ*,  &"<•,]  This  opinion,  though  m.t 
held  by  Plata  nor  any  of  the  ancients,  is  yet  a  very  natural  conse- 
quence of  his  principles.  But  the  disquisition  is  too  complex  and 
extensive  to  be  entered  upon  here. 


46  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

The  EFFLUENCE  of  his  GLORY  whom  he  placed 

Before  his  eyes  for  ever  to  behold ;  3 SO 

The  goddess  from  whose  inspiration  flows 

The  toil  of  patriots,  the  delight  of  friends; 

Without  whose  work  .divine,  in  heaven  or  earth, 

Nought  lovely,  nought  propitious  comes  to  pass, 

Nor  hope,  nor  praise,  nor  honour.,    HER,  the  SIRE  385 

Gave  it  in  charge  to  rear  the  blooming  mind, 

The  folded  powers  to  open,  to  direct 

The  growth  luxuriant  of  his  young  desires, 

And  from  the^  laws  of  this  majestic  world 

To  teach  him  what  was  good.    As  thus  the  nymph  390 

Her  daily  care  attended,  by  her  side 

With  constant  steps  her  gay  companion  stay'd, 

The  fair  EUPHROSYNE',  the  gentle  queen 

Of  smiles,  and  graceful  gladness,  and  delights 

That  cheer  alike  the  hearts  of  mortal  men  395 

And  powers  immortal.     See  the  shining  pair ! 

Behold,  where  from  his  dwelling  now  disclosed 

They  quit  their  youthful  charge  and;  seek  the  skies. 

I  looked,  and  on  the,  flowery  turf  there  stood 
Between  two  radiant  forms  a  smiling  youth,  400 

Whose  tender  cheeks  displayed  the  vernal  flawer 
O£Beauty;  sweetest  innocence  illumed 
Uis  bashful  eyes,  and  on  his  polishM  brow 
Sate  young  Simplicity.     With  fond  regard 
lie  viewed  the  associates,  as  their  steps  they  moved;  405 
The  younger  chief  his  ardent  eyes  detained, 
With  mild  regret  invoking  her  return. 
Bright  as  the  star  of  evening  she  appear'd 
Arnid  the  dusky  scene.     Eternal  youth 
O'er  all  her  form  its  glowing  honours  breathed;       410 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   II.  47 

And  smiles  eternal  from  her  candid  eyes 

FlowM,  like  the  dewy  lustre  of  the  m'orii 

Effusive  trembling  on  the  placid  waves. 

The  spring  of  heaven  had  shed  its  blushing  spoils 

To  bind  her  sable  tresses  :  full  diffused  415 

Her  yellow  mantle  floated  in  the  breeze  ; 

And  in  her  hand  she  waved  a  living  branch 

Rich  with  immortal  fruits,  of  power  to  calm 

The  wrathful  heart,  and  from  the  brightening  eyes, 

To  chase  the  cloud  of  sadness.     More  sublime          420 

The  heavenly  partner  moved.     The  prime  of  age 

Composed  her  steps.     The  presence  of  &  god, 

High  on  the  circle  of  her  brow  enthroned, 

From  each  majestic  motion  darted  awe, 

Devoted  awe  !  till,  cherish'd  by  her  looks  42.5 

Benevolent  and  meek,  confiding  love 

To  filial  rapture  soflen'd  all  the  soul. 

Free  in  her  graceful  hand  she  poized  the  swOfd 

Of  chaste  dominion.     An  heroic  crown 

Displayed  the  old  simplicity  of  pomp  430 

Around  her  honoured  head.     A  matron's  robe, 

White  as  the  sunshine  streams  through  vernal  clouds, 

Her  stately  form  invested.     Hand  in  hand 

The  immortal  pair  forsook  the  enamell'd  green, 

Ascending  slowly.     Rays  of  limpid  light  43.5 

Gleam'd  round  their  path;  coelestial  sounds  were  heard. 

And  through  the  fragrant  air  aethereal  dews 

DistuTd  around  them ;  till  at  once  the  clouds 

Disparting  wide  in  midway  sky,  withdrew 

Their  airy  veil,  and  left  a  bright  expanse  446 

Of  empyrean  flame,  where  spent  and  drowned, 

Afflicted  vision  plunged  in  vain  to  scan 


48  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

What  object  it  involved.     My  feeble  eyes 
Indured  not.     Bending  down  to  earth  I  stood, 
With  dumb  attention.     Soon  a  female  voice,  445 

As  watery  murmurs  sweet,  or  warbling  shades, 
With  sacred  invocation  thus  began. 

FATHER  of  gods  and  mortals  !  whose  right  arm 

o  o 

With  reins  eternal  guides  the  moving  heavens, 

Bend  thy  propitious  ear.     Behold  well-pleased         450 

I  seek  to  finish  thy  divine  decree. 

With  frequent  steps  I  visit  yonder  seat 

Of  man,  thy  offspring ;  from  the  tender  seeds 

Of  justice  and  of  wisdom,  to  evolve 

The  latent  honours  of  his  generous  frame  ;  4-55 

Till  thy  conducting  hand  shall  raise  his  lot 

From  earth's  dim  scene  to  these  cetliereal  walks, 

The  temple  of  thy  glory.     But  not  me, 

Not  my  directing  voice  he  oft  requires, 

Or  hears  delighted  :  this  inchanting  maid,  460 

The  associate  thou  hast  given  me,  her  alone 

He  loves,  O  FATHER  !  absent,  her  he  craves"; 

And  but  for  her  glad  presence  ever  join'd, 

Rejoices  riot  in  mine  :  that  all  my  hopes 

This  thy  benignant  purpose  to  fulfil,  465 

I  deem  uncertain;  and  my  daily  cares 

Unfruitful  all  and  vain,  unless  by  thee 

Still  farther  aided  in  the  work  divine. 

She  ceased;  a  voice  more  awful  thus  replied. 
O  thou  !   in  whom  for  ever  I  delight,  470 

Fairer  than  all  the  inhabitants  of  heaven, 
Best  image  of  thy  Author  !  far  from  thee 
Be  disappointment,  or  distaste,  or  blame  ; 
Who  soon  or  late  shall  every  work  fulfil, 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    II.  49 

And  no  resistance  find.     If  man  refuse  475 

To  hearken  to  thy  dictates  ;  or,  allured 

By  meaner  joys,  to  any  other  power 

Transfer  the  honours  due  to  thee  alone  ; 

That  joy  which  lie  pursues  he  ne'er  shall  taste. 

That  power  in  whom  delighteth  ne'er  behold.     .  480 

Go  then  once  more,  and  happy  be  thy  toil ; 

Go  then  !  but  let  not  this  thy  smiling  friend 

Partake  thy  footsteps.     In  her  stead,  behold  ! 

With  thee  the  son  of  *  Nemesis  I  send ; 

The  fiend  abhorr'd,  whose  vengeance  takes  account    485 

Of  sacred  Order's  violated  laws. 

See  where  he  calls  thee,  burning  to  be  gone, 

Fierce  to  exhaust  the  tempest  of  his  wrath 

On  yon  devoted  head.     But  thou,  my  child, 

Control  his  cruel  phrenzy,  and  protect  490 

Thy  tender  charge;   that  when  despair  shall  grasp 

His  agonizing  bosom,  he  may  learn, 

Then  he  may  learn  to  love  thy  gracious  hand ; 

Alone  sufficient  in  the  hour  of  ill, 

To  save  his  feeble  spirit;  then  confess  495 

Thy  genuine  honours,  O  excelling  fair  ! 

When  all  the  plagues  that  wait  the  deadly  will 

Of  this  avenging  daemon,  all  the  storms 

Of  night  infernal,  serve  but  to  display 

The  energy  of  thy  superior  charms;  500 

With  mildest  awe  triumphant  o'er  his  rage, 

And  shining  clearer  in  the  horrid  gloom. 

Here  ceased  that  awful  voice,  and  soon  I  felt 
The  cloudy  curtain  of  refreshing  eve 

*  V.  484.  Nemesis  the  Fiend  abhorred  &c.  ]  was  supposed  to  be 
one  of  the  Fates.     The  son  of  Nemesis  here  means  adversity  •    ED. 

E 


oO  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Was  closed  once  more,  from  that  immortal  fire        505 

Sheltering  my  eye-  lids.     Looking  up,  I  View'd 

A  vast  gigantic  spectre  striding  on 

Through  murmuring  thunders  and  a  waste  of  clouds, 

With  dreadful  action.     Black  as  night,  his  brow 

Relentless  frowns  involved.     His  savage  limbs  510 

With  sharp  impatience  violent  he  writh'd, 

As  through  convulsive  anguish ;  and  his  hand, 

Arm'd  with  a  scorpion-lash,  full  oft  he  raised 

In  madness  to  his  bosom  ;  while  his  eyes 

Rain'd  bitter  tears,  and  bellowing  loud  he  shook      515 

The  void  with  horror.     Silent  by  his  side 

The  virgin  came.     No  discomposure  stirr'd 

Her  features.     From  the  glooms  which  hung  around 

No  stain  of  darkness  mingled  with  the  beam 

Of  her  divine  effulgence.     Now  they  stoop  520 

Upon  the  river-bank ;  and  now  to  hail 

His  wonted  guests,  with  eager  steps  advanced 

The  unsuspecting  inmate  of  the  shade. 

As  when  a  famish'd  wolf,  that  all  night  long 
Had  ranged  the  Alpine  snows,  by  chance  at  morn  525 
Sees  from  a  cliff  incumbent  o'er  the  smoke 
Of  some  lone  village,  a  neglected  kid 
That  strays  along  the  wild  for  herb  or  spring ; 
Down  from  the  winding  ridge  he  sweeps  amain, 
And  thinks  he  tears  him  :  so  with  tenfold  rage,         530 
The  monster  sprung  remorseless  on  his  prey. 
Amazed  the  stripling  stood  :  with  panting  breast 
Feebly  he  pour'd  the  lamentable  wail 
Of  helpless  consternation,  struck  at  once, 
And  rooted  to  the  ground.     The  queen  beheld         535 
His  terror,  and  with  looks  of  tenderest  care 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK   II.  51 

Advanced  to  save  him.     Soon  the  tyrant  felt 
Her  awful  power.     His  keen,  tempestuous  arm 
Hung  nerveless,  nor  descended  where  his  rage 
Had  aim'd  the  deadly  blow  :  then  dumb  retired        540 
With  sullen  rancour.     Lo  !  the  SOVRAN  MAID 
Folds  with  a  mother's  arms  the  fainting  boy, 
Till  life  rekindles  in  his  rosy  cheek ; 
Then  grasps  his  hand  and  cheers  him  with  her  tongue. 
O  wake  thee,  rouse  thy  spirit !     Shall  the  spite    545 
Of  yon  tormentor  thus  appal  thy  heart, 
While  I,  thy  friend  and  guardian,  am  at  hand 
To  rescue  and  to  heal  r     O  let  thy  soul 
Remember,  what  the  will  of  Heaven  ordains 
Is  ever  good  for  all;  and  if  for  ALL,  550 

Then  good  for  THEE.     Nor  only  by  the  warmth 
And  soothing  sunshine  of  delightful  things, 
Do  minds  grow  up  and  flourish  :  oft  misled 
By  that  bland  light,  the  young  unpractised  views 
Of  reason  wander  through  a  fatal  road,  555 

Far  from  their  native  aim  :  as  if  to  lie 
Inglorious  in  the  fragrant  shade,  and  wait 
The  soft  access  of  ever-circling  joys, 
Were  all  the  END  OF  BEING     Ask  thyself, 
This  pleasing  error,  did  it  never  lull  560 

Thy  wishes  ?     Has  thy  constant  heart  refused 
The  silken  fetters  of  delicious  ease  ? 
Or  when  divine  EUPHROSYNE'  appeared 
Within  this  dwelling,  did  not  thy  desires 
Hang  far  below  the  measure  of  thy  fate,  565 

Which  I  revealM  before  thee  ?  and  thy  eyes, 
Impatient  of  my  counsels,  turn  away 
To  drink  the  soft  effusion  of  her  smiles  r 


52  THE    PLEASURES   OF 

Know  then,  for  THIS  the  everlasting  SIRE 
Deprives  thee  of  her  presence,  and  instead,  570 

O  wise  and  still  benevolent !  ordains 
This  horrid  visage  hither  to  pursue 
My  steps ;  that  so  thy  nature  may  discern 
Its  real  good,  and  what  alone  can  save 
Thy  feeble  spirit  in  this  hour  of  ill  575 

From  folly  and  despair.     O  yet  beloved  ! 
Let  not  this  headlong  terror  quite  overwhelm 
Thy  scattered  powers  ;  nor  fatal  deem  the  rage 
Of  this  tormentor,  nor  his  proud  assault, 
While  I  am  here  to  vindicate  thy  toil,  580 

Above  the  generous  question  of  tby  arm. 
Brave  by  thy  fears  and  in  thy  weakness  strong, 
This  hour  he  triumphs  :  but  confront  his  might, 
And  dare  him  to  the  combat,  then  with  ease 
Disarmed  and  quellM,  his  fierceness  he  resigns          585 
To  bondage  and  to  scorn  :  while  thus  inured 
By  watchful  danger,  by  unceasing  toil, 
The  IMMORTAL  MIND,  superior  to  his  fate, 
Arnid  the  outrage  of  external  things, 
Firm  as  the  solid  base  of  this  great  world,  590 

Rests  on  his  own  foundations.     Blow,  ye  winds  1 
Ye  waves  !  ye  thunders  !  roll  your  tempest  on  ; 
Shake,  ye  old  pillars  of  the  marble  sky  ! 
Till  all  its  orbs  and  all  its  worlds  of  fire 
Be  loosenM  from  their  seats ;  yet  still  serene,  595 

The  unconquer'd  mind  looks  down  upon  the  wreck  ; 
And  ever  stronger  as  the  storms  advance, 
Firm  through  the  closing  ruin  holds  his  way, 
Where  Nature  calls  him  to  the  destin'd  goal. 
So  spake  the  goddess  ;  while  through  all  her  frame  600 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK   II.        53 

Ccelestial  raptures  flow'd,  in  every  word, 
In  every  motion  kindling  warmth  divine 
To  seize  who  listened.     Vehement  and  swift 
As  lightening  fires  the  aromatic  shade 
In  ^Ethiopian  fields,  the  stripling  felt  605 

Her  inspiration  catch  his  fervid  soul, 
And  starting  from  his  languor  thus  exclairnM. 
Then  let  the  trial  come  !   nnd  witness  thou, 
If  terror  be  upon  me  ;  if  I  shrink 

To  meet  the  storm,  or  falter  in  my  strength  610 

When  hardest  it  besets  me,     Bo  not  think 
That  I  am  fearful  and  infirm  of  soul, 
As  late  thy  eyes  beheld :  for  thou  hast  changed 
My  nature  ;  thy  commanding  voice  has  waked 
My  languid  powers  to  bear  me  boldly  on,  615 

Where'er  the  WILL  DIVINE  my  path  ordains 
Through  toil  or  peril  :  only  do  not  THOU 
Forsake  me ;  O  be  thou  for  ever  near, 
That  I  may  listen  to  thy  sacred  voice, 
And  guide  by  thy  decrees  my  constant  feet  020 

But  say,  forever  are  my  eyes  bereft 

Say,  shall  the  fair  EUPHROSYNE'  not  once 
Appear  again  to  charm  me  ?     Thou,  in  heaven  ! 
O  thou  ETERNAL  ARBITER  of  things  ! 
Be  thy  great  bidding  done  :  for  who  am  I,  625 

To  question  thy  appointment  ?     Let  the  frowns 
Of  this  avenger  every  morn  o'ercast 
The  cheerful  dawn,  and  every  evening  clamp 
With  double  night  my  dwelling;  I  will  learn 
To  hail  them  both,  and  unrepining  bear  630 

His  hateful  presence ;  but  permit  my  tongue 
One  glad  request,  and  if  my  deeds  may  find 
E  2 


54  THE    PLEASURES   OF 

Thy  awful  eye  propitious,  O  restore 

The  rosy-featured  maid ;  again  to  cheer 

This  lonely  seat,  and  bless  me  with  her  smiles.         655 

Ke  spoke  ;  when  instant  through  the  sable  glooms 

With  which  that  furious  presence  had  involved 

The  ambient  air,  a  flood  of  radiance  came 

Swift  as  the  lightning  flash  ;  the  melting  clouds 

Flew  diverse,  and  amid  the  blue  serene  640 

EUPHROSYNE'  appeared.     With  sprighly  step 

The  nymph  alighted  on  the  irriguous  lawn, 

And  to  her  wondering  audience  thus  bewail. 

o  o 

Lo  !   I  am  here  to  answer  to  your  vows, 
And  be  the  meeting  fortunate  !  I  come  64-5 

With  joyful  tidings;  WE  SHALL  PART  NO  MORE—- • 
Hark  !  how  the  gentle  echo  from  her  cell 
Talks  through  the  cliffs,  and  murmuring  o'er  the  stream 
Repeats  the  accents  ;  we  shall  part  no  more. 
O  my  delightful  friends  1  well-pleased  on  high         650 
The  father  has  beheld  you,  while  the  might 
Of  that  stern  foe  with  bitter  trial  proved 
Your  equal  doings;  then  for  ever  spake 
The  HIGH  DECREE  :  that  thou,  coelestial  maid  ! 
Howe'er  that  grisly  phantom  on  thy  steps  655 

May  sometimes  dare  intrude,  yet  never  more 
Shalt  thou,  descending  to  the  abode  of  man, 
Alone  endure  the  rancour  of  his  arm, 
Or  leave  thy  loved  EUPHROSYNE'  behind. 

She  ended  ;  and  the  whole  romantic  scene  660 

Immediate  vanished;  rocks,  and  woods,  and  rills, 
The  mantling  tent,  and  each  mysterious  form 
Flew  like  the  pictures  of  a  morning  dream, 
When  sun-shine  fills  the  bed.     A  while  I  stood 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    II.  55 

Perplex'd  and  giddy,  till  the  radiant  Power  665 

Who  bade  the  visionary  landscape  rise, 
As  up  to  him  I  turned,  with  gentlest  looks 
Preventing  my  enquiry,  thus  began. 

There  let  thy  soul  acknowledge  its  complaint 
How  blind,  how  impious  !  There  behold  the  ways    670 
Of  Heaven's  eternal  destiny  to  man, 
For  ever  just,  benevolent  and  wise  : 
That  VIRTUE'S  awful  steps,  howe'er  pursued 
By  vexing  FORTUNE  and  intrusive  PAIN 
Should  never  be  divided  from  her  chaste,  675 

Her  fair  attendant,  PLEASURE.     Need  I  urge 
Thy  tardy  thought  through  all  the  various  round 
Of  this  existence,  that  thy  softening  soul 
At  length  may  learn  what  energy  the  baud 
Of  virtue  mingles  in  the  bitter  tide  680 

Of  passion  swelling  with  distress  and  pain, 
To  mitigate  the  sharp  with  gracious  drops 
Of  cordial  pleasure  ?  Ask  f  the  faithful  youth, 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  long  he  loved, 
So  often  fills  his  arms  ;  so  often  draws  685 

His  lonely  footsteps  at  the  silent  hour, 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
O  !  he  will  tell  thee,  that  the  Wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  foosom  to  forego 
That  sacred  hour,  wb^Vr  stealing  from  the  noise        690 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  sooths 
With  virtue's  kindest  looks  his  aking  breast, 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture. —  Ask  t  the  crowd 
Which  flies  impatient  from  the  village-walk 
To  climb  the  neighbouring  cliffs,  when  far  below     695 
-}  Book  II,  line  614.     J  Book  11,  line  624. 


56  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

The  cruel  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 

Some  helpless  bark  :  while  sacred  Pity  melts 

The  general  eye,  or  Terror's  icy  hand 

Smites  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair; 

While  every  mother  closer  to  her  breast  700 

Catches  her  child,  and  pointing  where  the  waves 

Foam  through  the  shattered  vessel,  shrieks  aloud 

As  one  poor  wretch  who  spreads  his  piteous  arms 

For  succour,  swallowed  by  the  roaring  surge  ; 

As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock,  70,5 

Drops  lifeless  down,  *  O  !  deemest  thou  indeed 

No  kind  endearment  here  by  Nature  given 

To  mutual  terror  and  Compassion's  tears  ? 

No  sweetly-melting  softness  which  attracts, 

O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain  the  social  powers,  710 

To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 

-—Ask  t  thy  own  heart ;  when  at  the  midnight  hour, 

Slow  through  that  studious  gloom  thy  pausing  eye 

Led  by  the  glimmering  taper  moves  around 

The  sacred  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs  715 

Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  fame 

For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  PRESENT  POWER 

Of  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page 

Even  as  a  FATHER  ;  blessing  while  he  reads 

The  praises  of  his  son.     If  then  thy  soul,  720 

Spurning  the  yoke  of  these  ingl.#£Jous  days, 

Mix  in  their  deeds  and  kindle  with  their  flame ; 

Say,  when  the  prospect  blackens  on  thy  view, 

When  rooted  from  the  base,  heroic  states 

Mourn  in  the  dust  and  tremble  at  the  frown  725 

Of  curst  ambition  ;  when  the  pious  j  band 

*  Book  II,  line  637.         f  Book  H,  line  643. 
1  V.  726.  The  sacred  battalion  of  Thebes  at  the  battle  of  Chceronta- 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    II.  57 

Of  youths  who  fought  for  freedom  and  their  sires, 

Lie  side  by  side  in  gore  ;  when  ruffian  pride 

Usurps  the  throne  of  justice,  turns  the  pomp 

Of  public  power,  the  majesty  of  rule,  730 

The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe, 

To  slavish  empty  pageants,  to  adorn 

A  tyrant's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 

Of  such  as  bow  the  knee  ;  when  *  honoured  urns 

Of  patriots  and  of  chiefs,  the  awful  bust  735 

And  storied  arch,  to  glut  the  coward-rage 

Of  regal  envy,  strew  the  public  way 

With  hallow'd  ruins ;  when  the  Muse's  haunt, 

The  marble  porch  where  wisdom  wont  to  talk 

With  SOCRATES  or  TULLY,  hears  no  more,  740 

Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks, 

Or  female  superstition's  midnight  prayer ; 

When  ruthless  rapine  from  the  hand  of  Time 

Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  blow 

To  sweep  the  works  of  glory  from  their  base;  745 

Till  desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street 

Expands  his  raven-wings,  and  up  the  wall, 

Where  t  senates  once  the  price  of  monarchs  doom'd, 

Hisses  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 

That  clasp  the  mouldering  column  ;  thus  defaced,   750 

Thus  widely  mournful,  when  the  prospect  thrills 

Thy  beating  bosom,  when  the  patriot's  tear 

Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 

In  fancy  hurls  the  thunderbolt  of  JOVE 

To  fire  the  impious  wreath  on  t  PHILIP'S  brow,         755 

*  Bool  II,  line  667.  f  Book  II,  l-ne  682, 

%  V.  755.  Palllp.']     The  Macedonian, 


58  THE    PLEASURES    O  F  &c. 

Or  dash  OCTAVIUS  from  the  trophied  car ; 
Say,   does*  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 
The  big  distress  ?  Or  would'st  thou  then  exchange 
Those  heart-ennobling  sorrows  for  the  lot 
Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd  700 

Of  mute  barbarians  bending  to  his  nod, 
And  bears  aloft  his  gold-invested  front 
And  says  within  himself,  "  I  am  a  king, 
"And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 
<e Intrude  upon  mine  ear? — "  The  baleful  dregs       765 
Of  these  late  ages,  this  inglorious  draught 
Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet, 
Blest  be  the  ETERNAL  RULER  of  the  world  ! 
Defiled  to  such  a  depth  of  sordid  shame 
The  native  honours  of  the  human  soul,  770 

Nor  so  effaced  the  image  of  its  SIRE. 
*  Book  II,  line  691. 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND, 


THE 
PLEASURES 

OF 

IMAGINATION. 

BOOK    THE    THIRD. 

ARGUMENT. 

PLEASURE  in  observing  the  tempers  and  manners  of  men,  even 
where  vicious  or  absurd.  The  origin  of  vice,  from  false  repre- 
sentations of  the  fancy,  producing  false  opinions  concerning  good 
and  evil.  Inquiry  into  ridicule.  The  general  sources  of  ridicule 
in  the  minds  ana  characters  of  men,  enumerated.  Final  cause 
of  the  sense  of  ridicule.  The  resemblance  of  certain  aspects  of 
inanimate  things  to  the  sensations  and  properties  of  the  mind. 
The  operations  of  the  mind  in  the  production  ef  the  works  of 
imagination,  described.  The  secondary  pleasure  from  imitation. 
The  benevolent  order  of  the  world  illustrated  in  the  arbitrary 
connexion  of  these  pleasures  with  the  objects  which  excite  them. 
The  nature  and  conduct  of  taste.  Concluding  with  an  account 
of  the  natural  and  moral  advantages  resulting  from  a  sensible 
and  well-formed  imagination. 

«  »  HAT  wonder  therefore,  since  the  endearing  ties 
Of  passion  link  the  universal  kind 
Of  man  so  close,  what  wonder  if  to  search 
This  common  nature  through  the  various  change 
Of  sex,  and  age,  and  fortune,  and  the  frame  5 

Of  each  peculiar,  draw  the  busy  mind 
With  unresisted  charms  ?  The  spacious  west, 
And  all  the  teeming  regions  of  the  south 
Hold  not  a  quarry,  to  the  curious  flight 


60  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Of  knowledge,  half  so  tempting  or  so  fair,  10 

As  man  to  man.     Nor  only  where  the  smiles 

Of  love  invite;  nor  only  where  the  applause 

Of  cordial  honour  turns  the  attentive  eye 

On  virtue's  graceful  deeds.     For  since  the  course 

Of  things  external  acts  in  different  ways  15 

On  human  apprehensions,  as  the  hand 

Of  Nature  tempered  to  a  different  frame 

Peculiar  minds  ;  so  haply  where  *  the  powers 

*  V.  18.  where  the  powers 

Of  fancy ,  &c.]  The  influence  of  .the  imagination  on  the 
conduct  of  life,  is  one  of  the  most  important  points  in  moral  phi- 
losophy. It  were  easy  by  an  induction  of  facts  to  prove  that  the 
imagination  directs  almost  all  the  passions,  and  mixes  with  almost 
every  circumstance  of  action  or  pleasure.  Let  any  man,  even  of 
the  coldest  head  and  soberest  industry,  analyse  the  idea  of  what  he 
calls  his  interest ;  he  will  iind  that  it  consists  chiefly  of  certain  de- 
grees of  decency,  beauty,  and  order,  variously  combined  into  one 
system,  the  idol  which  he  seeks  to  enjoy  by  labour,  hazard,  and 
self-denial.  It  is  on  this  account  of  the  last  consequence  to  regulate 
these  images  by  the  standard  of  nature  and  the  general  good ;  other- 
wise the  imagination,  by  heightening  some  objects  beyond  their  real 
excellence  and  beauty,  or  by  representing  others  in  a  more  odious 
or  terrible  shape  than  they  deserve,  may  of  course  engage  us  in 
pursuits  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  moral  order  of  things. 

If  it  be  objected  that  this  account  of  things  supposes  the  passions 
to  be  merely  accidental,  whereas  there  appears  in  some  a  natural 
and  hereditary  disposition  to  certain  passions  prior  to  all  circum- 
stances of  education  or  fortune ;  it  may  be  answered,  that  though 
no  man  is  born  ambitious  or  a  miser 9  yet  he  may  inherit  from  his 
parents  a  peculiar  temper  or  complexion  of  mind,  which  shall  ren- 
der his  imagination  more  liable  to  be  struck  with  some  particular 
objects,  consequently  dispose  him  to  form  opinions  of  good  and  ill, 
and  entertain  passions  of  a  particular  turn.  Some  men,  for  instance, 
by  the  original  frame  of  their  minds,  are  more  delighted  with  the 
vast  and  magnificent,  others  on  the  contrary  with  the  elegant  and 
gentle  aspects  of  nature.  And  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  the  dis- 
position of  the  moral  powers  is  always  similar  to  this  of  the  imagin- 
ation ;  that  those  who  are  most  inclined  to  admire  prodigious  and 
sublime  objects  in  the  physical  world,  are  also  most  inclined  to  ap- 
laud  examples  of  fortitude  and  heroic  virtue  in  the  moral.  While 
those  who  are  charmed  rather  with  the  delicacy  and  sweetness  of  co- 
lours, and  forms,  and  sounds,  never  fail  in  like  manner  to  yield  the 
preference  to  the  softer  scenes  of  virtue  and  the  sympathies  of  a  do- 
mestic life.  And  this  is  sufficient  to  account  for  the  objection. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK  III.         61 

Of  fancy  neither  lessen  nor  enlarge 
The  images  of  things,  bat  paint  in  all  20 

Their  genuine  hues,  the  features  which  they  wore 
In  Nature ;  there  opinion  will  be  true, 
And  action  right ;  for  *  action  treads  the  path 
In  which  Opinion  says  he  follows  good, 
Or  flies  from  evil ;  and  Opinion  gives  25 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 
Was  drawn  by  Fancy,  lovely  or  deformed  : 
Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 
Where  Fancy  cheats  the  intellectual  eye, 
With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines.  30 

Is  there  a  man,  who  at  the  sound  of  death, 
Sees  ghastly  shapes  of  terror  conjured  up, 
And  black  before  him ;  nought  but  death-bed  groans, 
And  fearful  prayers,  and  plunging  from  the  brink 
.  Of  light  and  being,  down  the  gloomy  air,  35 

An  unknown  depth  ?     Alas  !  in  such  a  mind, 
If  no  bright  forms  of  excellence  attend 
The  image  of  his  country  ;  nor  the  pomp 
Of  sacred  senates,  nor  the  guardian  voice 

Among  the  ancient  philosophers,  though  we  have  several  hints 
concerning  this  influence  of  the  imagination  upon  morals  among 
the  remains  of  the  Socratic  school,  yet  the  Stoics  were  the  first  who 
paid  it  a  due  attention.  Zeno,  their  founder,  thought  it  impossible 
to  preserve  any  tolerable  regularity  in  life,  without  frequently  in- 
specting those  pictures  or  appearances  of  things,  which  the  imagin- 
ation offers  to  the  mind  (Diog.  Laert.  1.  vii.)  The  meditations  of 
M.  AureliiiSy  and  the  discourses  of  Epictctus,  are  full  of  the  same 
sentiment;  insomuch  that  the  latter  makes  the  X^trtg  ola  oil. 
tyoivlouriuv,  or  right  management  of  the  fancies,  the  only  thing  for 
which  we  are  accountable  to  providence,  and  without  which  a  man 
is  no  other  than  stupid  or  frantic.  Arrian.  1.  i.  c.  12.  &  1  ii.  c.  22. 
See  also  the  Characteristics,  vol.  i.  from  p.  313.  to  321.  where  this 
Stoical  doctrine  is  embellished  with  all  the  elegance  and  graces  of 
Plato. 

*  Book  IT,  line  4 18. 

F 


62  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Of  Justice  on  her  throne,  nor  aught  that  wakes          40 

The  conscious  bosom  with  a  patriot's  flame ; 

Will  not  Opinion  tell  him,  that  to  die, 

Or  stand  the  *  hazard,  is  a  greater  ill 

Than  to  betray  his  country  ?     And  in  act 

Will  he  not  chuse  to  be  a  wretch  and  live  ?  45 

Here  vice  begins  then.     From  the  enchanting  cup 

Which  Fancy  holds  to  all,  the  unwary  thirst 

Of  youth  oft  swallows  a  Circtean  draught, 

That  sheds  a  baleful  tincture  o'er  the  eye 

Of  Reason,  till  no  longer  he  discerns,  50 

And  only  guides  to  err.     Then  f  revel  forth 

A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne; 

And  all  is  uproar.     THUS  Ambition  grasps 

The  empire  of  the  soul :  thus  pale  Revenge 

Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger;  and  the  hands      55 

Of  Lust  and  Rapine,  with  unholy  arts, 

Watch  to  overturn  the  barrier  of  the  laws 

That  keeps  them  from  their  prey  :  thus  all  the  plagues 

The  wicked  bear,  or  o'er  the  trembling  scene 

The  tragic  rnuse  discloses,  under  shapes  60 

Of  honour,  safety,  pleasure,  ease  or  pomp, 

Stole  first  into  the  mind.     Yet  not  by  all 

Those  lying  forms  which  Fancy  in  the  brain 

Engenders,  arc  the  kindling  passions  driven, 

To  guilty  deeds  ;  nor  Reason  bound  in  chains,  05 

That  Vice  alone  may  lord  it ;  j  oft  adornM 

With  solemn  pageants,  Folly  mounts  his  throne, 

And  plays  her  idiot-anticks,  like  a  queen. 

A  thousand  garbs  she  wears ;  a  thousand  ways 

She  wheels  her  giddy  empire. — Lo  !  thus  far  70 

*  Book  II,  line  437.     f  Book  1T>  linc  47(X    t  Sook  U> line  487» 


IMAGINATION,     BOOK    III.         63 

With  bold  adventure,  to  the  Mantuan  lyre 

I  sing  of  Nature's  charms,  and  touch  well-pleased 

A  stricter  note  :  now  haply  must  my  song 

Unbend  her  serious  measure,  and  reveal 

In  lighter  strains,  how  *  Folly's  aukward  arts  75 

Excite  impetuous  laughter's  gay  rebuke  ; 

The  sportive  province  of  the  comic  Muse. 

See  !  in  what  crouds  the  uncouth  forms  advance ; 
Each  would  outstrip  the  other,  each  prevent 
Our  careful  search,  and  offer  to  your  gaze,  80 

Unasked,  his  motley  features.  Wait  awhile, 
My  curious  friends  !  and  let  us  first  arrange 
In  proper  orders  your  promiscuous  throng. 

Behold  t  the  foremost  band  ;  of  slender  thought, 
And  easy  faith;  whom  flattering  Fancy  sooths  85 

With  lying  spectres,  in  themselves  to  view 
Illustrious  forms  of  EXCELLENCE  and  GOOD, 
That  scorn  the  mansion.     With  exulting  hearts 
They  spread  their  spurious  treasures  to  the  sun, 
And  bid  the  world  admire  !   but  chief  the  glance        90 
Of  wishful  envy  draws  their  joy -bright  eyes, 
And  lifts  with  self-applause  each  lordly  brow. 
In  number  boundless  as  the  blooms  of  spring, 

*  V.  75.  — how  foilifs  aulfward  art?,  &e/]     Notwithstanding  the 

general  influence  of  ridicule  on  private  and  civil  life,  as  well  as  on 
learning  and  the  sciences,  it  has  been  almost  constantly  neglected 
or  misrepresented,  by  divines  especially.  The  manner  of  treating 
these  subjects  in  the  science  of  human  nature,  should  be  precisely 
the  same  as  in  natural  philosophy;  from  particular  facts  t/j  investi- 
gate the  stated  order  in  which  they  appear,  and  then  apply  the  gen- 
eral law,  thus  discovered,  to  the  explication  of  other  appearances 
and  the  improvement  of  useful  arts. 

f  V.  84.  Behold  the  foremost  band,  &c.]  The  first  and  most 
general  source  of  ridicule  in  the  characters  of  men,  is  vanity,  or 
iself-applause  for  some  desirable  quality  or  possession  which  evident- 
ly does  not  belong-  to  those  who  assume  it. 


6*  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Behold  their  glaring  idols,  empty  shades 
By  Fancy  gilded  o'er,  and  then  set  up  &5 

For  adoration.     Some  in  learning's  garb, 
With  formal  band,  and  sable-einctur'd  gown, 
And  rags  of  mouldly  volumes.     Some  elate 
With  martial  splendor,  steely  pikes,  and  swords 
Of  costly  frame,  and  gay  Phoenician  robes  10Q 

Inwrought  with  flowery  gold,  assume  the  port 
Of  stately  valour  :  listening  by  his  side 
There  stands  a  female  form  ;  to  her,  with  looks 
Of  earnest  import,  pregnant  with  amaze, 
He  talks  of  deadly  deeds,  of  breaches,  storms,  105 

And  sulphurous  mines,  and  ambush  :  then  at  once 
Breaks  c>fF,  and  smiles  to  sec  her  look  so  pale, 
And  asks  some  wondering  question  of  her  fears. 
Others  of  graver  mien  ;  behold,  adorned 
With  holy  ensigns,  how  sublime  they  move,  1 10 

And  bending  oft  their  sanctimonious  eyes 
Take  homage  of  the  simple-minded  throng; 
Ambassadors  of  heaven  !  Nor  much  unlike 
Is  he  whose  visage,  in  the  lazy  mist 
That  mantles  every  feature,  hides  a  brood  115 

Of  politic  conceits  ;  of  whispers,  nods, 
And  hints  deep  omen'd  \\ith  unwieldly  schemes, 
And  dark  portents  of  state.     Ten  thousand  more, 
Prodigious  habits  and  tumultuous  tongues, 
Pour  dauntless  in  and  swell  the  boastful  band.  120 

Then  *  comes  the  second  order;  all  who  seek 

*  V.  121.  fhen  comes  Ilie  second  order,  &c.*J  Ridicule  from  the 
same  vanity,  where,  though  the  possession  be  real,  \tt  no  merit 
can  arise  from  it,  because  of  some  particular  circumstances,  which, 
though  obvious  to  the  spectator,  are  yet  o\erlookecl  by  the  i*iduM  - 
lous  character. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    III.          05 

The  debt  ofprai.se,  where  watchful  unbelief 

Darts  through  the  thin  pretence  her  squinting1  eye 

On  some  retired  appearance  which  belies 

The  boasted  virtue,  or  annuls  the  applause  125 

That  justice  else  would  pay.     Here  side  by  side 

I  see  two  leaders  of  the  solemn  train, 

Approaching ;  one  a  female,  old  and  grey, 

With  eyes  demure  and  wrinkle- furrow'd  brow, 

Pale  as  the  cheeks  of  death  ;  yet  still  she  stuns          130 

The  sickening  audience  with  a  nauseous  tale ; 

How  many  youths  her  myrtle-chains  have  worn, 

How  many  virgins  at  her  triumphs  pined  ! 

Yet  how  resolved  she  guards  her  cautious  heart; 

Such  is  her  terror  at  the  risks  of  love,  1 35 

And  man's  seducing  tongue  !  The  other  seems 

A  bearded  sage,  ungentle  in  his  mien, 

And  sordid  all  his  habit ;  peevish  want 

Grins  at  his  heels,  while  down  the  gazing  throng 

He  stalks,  resounding  in  magnific  phrase  140 

The  vanity  of  riches,  the  contempt 

Of  pomp  and  power.     Be  prudent  in  your  zeal, 

Ye  grave  associates!   let  the  silent  grace 

Of  her  who  blushes  at  the  fond  regard 

Her  charms  inspire,  more  eloquent  unfold  14-5 

The  praise  of  spotless  honour :  let  the  man 

Whose  eye  regards  not  his  illustrious  pomp 

And  ample  store,  but  as  indulgent  streams 

To  cheer  the  barren  soil,  and  spread  the  fruits 

Of  joy  ;  let  him  by  juster  measures  fix  150 

The  price  of  riches  and  the  end  of  power. 

F  2 


66  THE    PLEASURES   OF 

Another  *  tribe  succeeds ;  deluded  long 
By  Fancy's  dazzling  optics,  these  behold 
The  images  of  some  peculiar  things 
With  brighter  hues  resplendent,  and  portray 'd          155 
With  features  nobler  far  than  e'er  adorn'd 
Their  genuine  objects.     Hence  the  fever'd  heart 
Pants  with  delirious  hope  for  tinsel  charms; 
Hence  oft  obtrusive  on  the  eye  of  scorn, 
Untimely  zeal  her  witless  pride  betrays  ;  160 

And  serious  manhood  from  the  towering  aim 
Of  wisdom,  stoops  to  emulate  the  boast 
Of  childish  toil.     Behold  yon  mystic  form, 
Bedeek'd  with  feathers,  insects,  weeds  and  shells  ! 
Not  with  intenser  view  the  Satnian  sage  165 

Bent  his  fixt  eye  on  heaven's  eternal  fires, 
When  first  the  order  of  that  radiant  scene 
Swell'd  his  exulting  thought;  than  this  surveys 
A  muckworm's  entrails  or  a  spider's  fang. 
Next  him  a  youth,  with  flowers  and  myrtles  crown'd,  170 
Attends  that  virgin  form,  and  blushing  kneels, 
With  fondest  gesture  and  a  suppliant's  tongue, 
To  win  her  coy  regard :  adieu,,  for  him, 
The  dull  engagements  of  the  bustling  world  ! 
Adieu  the  sick  impertinence  of  praise  !  175 

And  hope,  and  action  !  for  with  her  alone, 
By  streams  and  shades,  to  steal  the  sighing  hours, 
Is  all  he  asks,  and,  all  that  fate  can  give  ! 
Thee  too,  facetious  Momion,  wandering  here, 
Thee  dreaded  censor  !  oft  have  I  beheld  1 80 


*  V.  152.  Another  tribe  succeeds,  &c.]  Ridicule  from  a  notion 
of  excellence  in  particular  objects  disproportioned  to  their  intrinsic 
value,  and  inconsistent  with  th«  order  of  nature. 


IMAGINATION    BOOK     III.        67 

Bewildered  unawares  :  alas  !  too  long 

Flushed  with  thy  comic  triumphs  and  the  spoils 

Of  sly  derision  !  till  on  every  side 

Hurling  thy  random  bolts,  offended  truth 

Assigned  thee  here  thy  station  with  the  slaves  1 S5 

Of  FOLLY.     Thy  once  formidable  name 

Shall  grace  HER  humble  records,  and  be  heard 

In  scoffs  and  mockery  bandied  from  the  lips 

Of  all  the  vengeful  brotherhood  around, 

So  oft  the  patient  victims  of  thy  scorn.  190 

But  *  now,  ye  gay  !  to  whom  indulgent  Fate, 
Of  all  the  muse's  empire  hath  assigned 
The  fields  of  Folly,  hither  each  advance 
Your  sickles ;  here  the  teeming  soul  affords 
Its  richest  growth.     A  favourite  brood  appears;       195 
In  whom  the  daemon,  with  a  mother's  joy, 
Views  all  her  charms  reflected,  all  her  cares 
At  full  repay'd.     Ye  most  illustrious  band  ! 
Who,  scorning  Reason's  tame,  pedantic  rules, 
And  Order's  vulgar  bondage,  never  meant  200 

For  souls  sublime  as  yours,  with  generous  zeal 
Pay  Vice  the  reverence  Virtue  long  usurped, 
And  yield  Deformity  the  fond  applause 
Which  Beauty  wont  to  claim  ;  forgive  my  song, 
That  for  the  blushing  diffidence  of  youth,  205 

It  shuns  the  unequal  province  of  your  praise. 

Thus  f  far  triumphant  in  the  pleasing  guile 
Of  bland  imagination,  Folly's  train 

*  V.  191.  But  now,  yet  gay,  <Sff.}  Ridicule  from  a  notion  of 
excellence,  when  the  object  is  absolutely  odious  or  contemptible. 
This  is  the  highest  degree  of  the  ridiculous;  as  -11  the  affectation  of 
diseases  or  vices. 

f  V.  207.  Yiius  far  triumphant,  #c.]  Ridicule  from  false  shame 
or  groundless  fear. 


68  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

Have  dared  our  search  :  but  now  a  dastard-kind 

Advance  reluctant,  and  with  faltering  feet  21© 

Shrink  from  the  gazer's  eye  :  enfeebled  hearts 

Whom  Fancy  chills  with  visionary  fears, 

Or  bends  to  servile  tamencss  with  conceits 

Of  shame,  of  evil,  or  of  base  defect 

Fantastic  and  delusive.     Here  the  slave  1 15 

Who  droops  abash'd  when  sullen  pomp  surveys 

His  humbler  habit ;  here  the  trembling  wretch 

Unnerved  and  struck  with  terror's  icy  bolts ; 

Spent  in  weak  wailings,  drown'd  in  shameful  tears, 

At  every  dream  of  danger  :  here  subdued  220 

By  frontless  laughter  and  the  hardy  scorn 

Of  old,  unfeeling  vice,  the  abject  soul, 

Who  blushing  half  resigns  the  candid  praise 

Of  temperance  and  honour ;  half  disowns 

A  freeman's  hatred  of  tyrannic  pride;  225 

And  hears  with  sickly  smiles  the  venal  mouth 

With  foulest  licence  mock  the  patriot's  name. 

Last  *  of  the  mptley  bands,  on  whom  the  power 
Of  gay  derision  bends  her  hostile  aim, 
Is  that,  where  shameful  Ignorance  presides.  230 

Beneath  her  sordid  banners,  lo  !  they  march, 
Like  blind  and  lame.     Wliate'er  their  doubtful  hands 
Attempt,  confusion  straight  appears  behind, 
And  troubles  all  the  work.     Through  many  a  maze, 
Perplex'd  they  struggle,  changing  every  path,          235 
O'erturning  every  purpose;  then  at  last 
Sit  down  dismay'd,  and  leave  the  entangled  scene 
For  scorn  to  sport  with.     Such  then  is  the  abode 

*  V.  228.     Lad  of  tke>  <Sfc.]     Ridicule  from  the  ignorance  of 
such  things  as  our  circumstances  require  us  to  know. 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.  <>9 

Of  Folly  in  the  mind ;  and  such  the  shapes 

In  which  she  governs  her  obsequious  train.  240 

Through*  every  scene  of  Ridicule  in  things 
To  lead  the  tenor  of  my  devious  lay ; 
Through  every  swift  occasion,  which  the  hand 
Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting 
Distends  her  sallying  nerves  and  choaks  her  tongue  j  245 
What  were  it  but  to  count  each  crystal  drop 
Which  Morning's  dewy  fingers  on  the  blooms 
Of  May  distil  ?     f  Suffice  it  to  have  said, 

*  Book  II,  line  503. 

f  V.  248. — Suffice  it  to  have  said,  <$Cc.]  By  comparing  these 
general  sources  of  ridicule  with  each  other,  and  examining  the  ridic- 
ulous in  other  objects,  we  may  obtain  a  general  definition  of  it, 
equally  applicable  to  every  species.  The  most  important  circum- 
stance of  this  definition  is  laid  down  in  the  lines  referred  to;  but 
others  more  minute  we  shall  subjoin  here.  Aristotle's  account  of  the 
matter  seems  both  imperfect  and  false ;  ro  <y«,£  ygAorov,  says  he, 
Ir^v  <^uc^7»?/xa  rt  x«l  cwrx®',  uvu'Svvov  xo-i  a  <p8ap]ixov  :  the  ri- 
diculous is  some  certain  fault  or  turpitude  without  pain,  and  not  de- 
structive to  its  subject.  (Puet.  c.  5.)  For  allowing  it  to  be  true,  as 
it  is  not,  that  the  ridiculous  is  never  accompanied  with  pain,  yet 
we  might  produce  many  instances  of  such  a  fault  or  turpitude  which 
cannot  with  any  tolerable  propriety  be  called  ridiculous.  So  that 
the  definition  does  not  distinguish  the  thing  designed.  Nay  farther; 
even  when  we  perceive  the  turpitude  tending  to  the  destruction  of 
its  subject,  we  may  still  be  sensible  of  a  ridiculous  appearance,  till 
the  ruin  become  imminent,  and  the  keener  sensations  of  pity  or  ter- 
ror banish  the  ludicrous  apprehension  from  our  minds.  For  the 
sensation  of  ridicule  is  not  a  bare  perception  of  the  agreement  or 
disagreement  of  ideas  ;  but  a  passion  or  emotion  of  the  mind  con- 
sequential to  that  perception.  So  that  the  mind  may  perceive  the 
agreement  or  disagreement,  and  yet  not  feel  the  ridiculous,  because 
it  is  engrossed  by  a  more  violent  emotion.  Thus  it  happens  that 
some  men  think  those  objects  ridiculous,  to  which  others  cannot  en- 
dure to  apply  the  name;  because  in  them  they  excite  a  much  in- 
tenser  and  more  important  feeling.  And  this  difference,  among 
other  causes,  has  brought  a  good  deal  of  confusion  into  this  ques- 
tion. 

That  which  makes  objects  ridiculous^  is  some  ground  of  admiration 
or  esteem  connected  with  other  more  general  circumstances  compara- 
tively -worthless  or  deformed  ;  or  it  is  some  circumstance  of  turpitude  or 
deformity  connected  with  what  is  general  excellent  or  beautiful;  {/}<? 


70  THE   PLEAS  ORES    OF 

Where'er  the  power  of  RIDICULE  displays 

Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form,       250 

Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combined, 

Strikes  on  the  quick  observer  :   whether  pomp, 

Or  praise,  or  beauty,  mix  their  partial  claim 

Where  sordid  fashions,  where  ignoble  deeds. 

Where  foul  deformity  are  wont  to  dwell ;  255 

inconsistent  properties  existing  either  in  the  objects  themselves,  or  in. 
the  apprehension  of  the  person  to  whom  they  relate  ;  belonging  always 
to  the  same  order  or  class  of  being;  implying  sentiment  or  design; 
and  exciting  no  acute  or  vehement  emotion  of  the  heart- 
To  prove  the  several  parts  of  this  definition :  The  appearance  of 
excellence  or  beauty  connected  with  a  general  condition  comparatively 
sordid  or  deformed,  is  ridiculous  :  for  instance,  pompous  pretensions 
of  wisdom  joined  with  ignorance  and  folly  in  the  Socrates  of  Aristo- 
phanes; and  the  ostentations  of  military  glory  with  cowardice  and 
ttupUity  in  the  Thraso  of  Terence. 

T/ie  appearnce  of  deformity  or  turpitude  in  conjunction  with  what  is 
in  general  excellent  or  venerable,  is  also  ridiculous  :  for  instance,  the 
personal  weaknesses  of  a  magistrate  appearing  in  the  solemn  and 
public  functions  of  his  station. 

The  incongruous  properties  may  either  exist  in  the  objects  them.' 
selves,  or  in  apprchcnsicn  of  the  person  to  whom  they  relate  :  in  the 
las'. -mentioned  instance,  they  both  exist  in  the  objects;  in  the  in- 
stance's from  fAristophanes  and  Terence,  one  of  them  is  objective  and 
r  'a',  the  other  only  founded  in  the  apprehension  of  the  ridiculous 
character. 

The  inconsistent  properties  must  belong  to  the  same  order  or  class  (>f 
being.  A  coxcomb  in  fine  clothes,  bedaubed  by  accident  in  foul 
weather,  is  a  ridiculous  object ;  because  his  general  apprehension 
of  excellence  and  esteem  is  referred  to  the  splendour  and  expence  of 
his  dress.  A  man  of  sense  and  merit,  in  the  same  circumstances, 
is  rot  counted  ridiculous;  because  the  general  ground  of  excellence 
and  esteem  in  him,  is,  both  in  fact  and  in  his  own  apprehension,  of 
a  very  different  species. 

I.-'very  ridiculous  object  implies  sentiment  or  design.  A  column 
placed  by  an  architect  without  a  capital  or  base,  is  laughed  at:  the 
same  column  in  a  ruin  causes  a  very  different  sensation. 

And  lastly,  the  occur^nce  must  excite  no  acute  or  vehement  emotion, 
of  the  heart,  such  as  terror,  pity,  or  indignation;  f.»r  in  that  case, 
as  \vas  observed  above,  the  mind  is  not  at  leisure  to  contemplate  the 
riiliov;!  >ns. 

Whether  any  appearance  not  ridiculous  be  involved  in  this  de- 
scripti  >n,  and  whether  it  comprehend  every  species  and  form  of  the 
ridiculous,  must  be  determined  by  repeated  applications  of  it  to 
particular  instance.*, 


IMAGINATION,    BOOK    III.        7i 

Or  whether  these  with  violation  loath'd, 
Invade  resplendent  pomp's  imperious  mien, 
The  charms  of  beauty  or  the  boast  of  praise. 
Ask  *  we  for  what  fair  end,  the  ALMIGHTY  SIKE 

*  Book  II,  line  523. 

*  259.  Ask  we  for  what  fair  end,  &o.]  Siiace  it  is  beyond  all 
contradiction  evident  that  we  have  a  natural  sense  or  feeling  of  the 
ridiculous,  and  since  so  good  a  reason  may  be  assigned  to  justify 
the  Supreme  Being  for  bestowing  it ;  one  cannot  without  astonish- 
ment reflect  on  the  conduct  of  those  men  who  imagine  it  is  for  the 
service  of  true  religion  to  vilify  and  blacken  it  without  distinction, 
and  endeavour  to  persuade  us  that  it  is  never  applied  but  in  a  bad 
cause.  Ridicule  is  not  concerned  with  mere  speculative  truth  or 
falsehood.  It  is  not  in  abstract  propositions  or  theorems,  but  in 
actions  and  passions,  good  and  evil,  beauty  and  deformity,  that  we 
find  materials  for  it ;  and  all  these  terms  are  relative,  implying  ap- 
probation or  blame.  To  ask  then  whether  ridicule  be  a  test  of  truth, 
is,  in  other  words,  to  ask  whether  that  which  is  ridiculous  can  be 
morally  true,  can  be  just  and  becoming;  or  whether  that  which  is 
just  and  becoming  can  be  ridiculous.  A  question  that  does  not  de- 
serve a  serious  answer.  For  it  is  most  evident,  that,  as  in  a  meta- 
physical proposition  offered  to  the  understanding  for  its  assent,  the 
faculty  of  reason  examines  the  terms  of  the  proposition,  and  finding 
one  idea,  which  was  supposed  equal  to  another,  to  be  in  fact  une- 
qual, of  consequence  rejects  the  proposition  as  a  falsehood  ;  so,  in 
objects  offered  to  the  mind  for  its  esteem  or  applause,  the  faculty  of 
ridicule,  finding  an  incongruity  in  the  claim,  urges  the  mind  to  re- 
ject it  with  laughter  and  contempt.  When  therefore  we  observe 
such  a  claim  obtruded  upon  mankind,  and  the  inconsistent  circum- 
stances carefully  concealed  from  the  eye  of  the  public,  it  is  our  bu- 
siness, if  the  matter  be  of  importance  to  society,  to  drag  out  those 
latent  circumstances,  and,  by  setting  them  in  full  view,  to  con- 
vince the  world  how  ridiculous  the  claim  is :  and  thus  a  double  ad- 
vantage is  gained ;  for  we  both  detect  the  moral  falsehood  sooner 
than  in  the  way  of  speculative  inquiry,  and  impress  the  minds  of 
men  with  a  stronger  sense  of  the  vanity  and  error  of  its  authors. 
And  this  and  no  more  is  meant  by  the  application  of  ridicule. 

But  it  is  said,  the  practice  is  dangerous,  and  may  be  inconsistent 
with  the  regard  we  owe  to  objects  of  real  dignity  and  excellence. 
I  answer,  the  practice  fairly  managed  can  never  be  dangerous ;  men 
may  be  dishonest  in  obtruding  circumstances  foreign  to  the  object, 
and  we  may  be  inadvertent  in  allowing  those  circumstances  to  im- 
pose upon  us  :  but  the  sense  of  ridicule  always  judges  right.  The 
Socrates  of  Aristophanes  is  as  truly  ridiculous  a  character  as  ever  was 
drawn  : — True  ;  but  it  is  not  the  character  of  Socrates,  the  divine 
moralist  and  father  of  ancient  wisdom.  What  then  ?  did  the  ridi- 
cule of  the  poet  hinder  the  philosopher  from  detecting  aud  disclaim- 
ing those  foreign  circumstances  which  he  had  falsely  introduced  int 


72  THE    PLEASURES   OF 

In  mortal  bosoms  wakes  this  gay  contempt,  260 

These  grateful  stings  of  laughter,  from  disgust 

Educing  pleasure  ?     *  Wherefore,  but  to  aid 

The  tardy  steps  of  reason,  and  at  once 

By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 

The  giddy  aims  of  Folly  ?     Though  the  light  265 

Of  truth  slow-dawning  on  the  inquiring  mind, 

At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie, 

How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 

In  public  evil !  yet  benignant  Heaven, 

Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears  270 

To  thousands;  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause 

From  labours  and  from  care,  the  wider  lot 

Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 

To  scan  the  maze  of  Nature ;  therefore  stamp'd 

The  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn,  275 

As  broad,  as  obvious,  to  the  passing  clown, 

As  to  the  lettered  sage's  curious  eye. 

Such  are  the  various  aspects  of  the  mind- 
Some  heavenly  genius,  whose  unclouded  thoughts 
Attain  that  secret  harmony  which  blends  280 

The  oethereal  spirit  with  its  mould  of  clay; 
O  !  teach  me  to  reveal  the  grateful  charm 
That  searchless  Nature  o'er  the  sense  of  man 

his  character,  and  thus  rendering  the  satirist  doubly  ridiculous  in  his 
turn?  No;  but  it  nevertheless  had  an  ill  influence  on  the  minds  of 
the  people.  And  so  has  the  reasoning  of  Spinoza  made  many 
atheists  :  he  founded  it  indeed  on  suppositions  utterly  false  -9  but 
allow  him  these,  and  his  conclusions  are  unavoidably  true.  And  if 
-we  must  reject  the  use  of  ridicule,  because,  by  the  imposition  of  false 
circumstances,  things  may  be  made  to  seem  ridiculous,  which  are 
not  so  in  themselves ;  why  we  ought  not  in  the  same  manner  to  re- 
ject the  use  of  reason,  because,  by  proceeding  on  false  principles, 
conclusions  will  appear  true  which  are  impossible  in  nature,  let  the 
vehement  and  obstinate  declaimers  against  ridicule  determine. 
*  Book  II,  line  526. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK   III.          73 

Diffuses,  to  behold,  in  lifeless  things, 

The  *  inexpressive  semblance  of  himself,  285 

Of  thought  and  passion.     Mark  the  sable  woods 

That  shade  sublime  yon  mountain's  nodding  brow  ; 

With  what  religious  awe  the  solemn  scene 

Commands  your  steps  !   as  if  the  reverend  form 

Of  MINOS  or  of  NUMA  should  forsake  290 

The  Elysian  seats,  and  down  the  embowering  glade, 

Move  to  your  pausing  eye  !  behold  the  expanse 

Of  yon  gay  landscape,  where  the  silver  clouds 

Flit  o'er  the  heavens  before  the  sprightly  breeze ; 

Now  their  grey  cincture  skirts  the  doubtful  sun ;      295 

Now  streams  of  splendor,  through  their  opening  veil 

Effulgent,  sweep  from  off  the  gilded  lawn 

The  aerial  shadows ;  on  the  the  curling  brook, 

And  on  the  shady  margin's  quivering  leaves 

With  quickest  lustre  glancing  :    while  you  view        300 

The  prospect,  say,  within  your  cheerful  breast 

Plays  not  the  lively  sense  of  winning  mirth 

With  clouds  and  sun-shine  chequered,  while  the  round 

Of  social  converse,  to  the  inspiring  tongue 

Of  some  gay  nymph  amid  her  subject  train,  305 

Moves  all  obsequious  ?  Whence  is  this  effect, 

This  kindred  power  of  such  discordant  things  ? 

Or  flows  their  semblance  from  that  mystic  tone 

To  which  the  new-born  mind's  harmonious  powers 

At  first  were  strung  ?  Or  rather  from  the  links         310 

WThich  artful  custom  twines  around  her  frame  ? 

For  when  the  different  images  of  things, 
By  chance  combined,  have  struck  the  attentive  soul 

*  V.  285.  The  inexpressive  semblance,  &c.]   This  similitude  is  the 
foundation  of  almost  all  the  ornaments  of  poetic  diction. 
G 


74  THE   PLEASURES    O* 

With  deeper  impulse,  or  connected  long, 

Have  drawn  her  frequent  eye  ;  howe'er  distinct        315 

The  external  scenes,  yet  oft  the  ideas  gain 

From  that  conjunction  an  eternal  tie, 

And  sympathy  unbroken.     Let  the  mind 

Recal  one  partner  of  the  various  league, 

Immediate,  lo  !  the  firm  confederates  rise,  320 

And  each  his  former  station  straight  resumes  : 

One  movement  governs  the  consenting  throng, 

And  all  at  once  with  rosy  pleasure  shine, 

Or  all  are  sadden'd  with  the  glooms  of  care. 

'Twas  thus,  if  ancient  fame  the  truth  unfold,  325 

Two  *  faithful  needles,  from  the  informing  touch 

Of  the  same  parent-stone,  together  drew 

Its  mystic  virtue,  and  at  first  conspired 

With  fatal  impulse  quivering  to  the  pole  :  329 

Then,  tho'  disjoined  by  kingdoms,  tho'  the  main 

Roird  its  broad  surge  betwixt,  and  different  stars 

Beheld  their  wakeful  motions,  yet  preserved 

The  former  friendship,  arid  remember'd  still 

The  alliance  of  their  birth  :  whatever  the  line 

Which  one  possessed,  nor  pause,  nor  quiet  knew       335 

The  sure  associate,  ere  with  trembling  speed 

He  found  its  path  and  fix'd  unerring  there. 

Such  is  the  secret  union,  when  we  feel 

A  song,  a  flower,  a  name,  at  once  restore  339 

Those  long-connected  scenes  where  first  they  moved 

The  attention  :  backward  through  her  mazy  walks 

Guiding  the  wanton  fancy  to  her  sco^e, 

*  V.  326.  Two  faithful  needles,  &c.  ]  See  the  elegant  poem  re- 
cited by  Cardinal  Bernbo  in  the  character  of  Lucretius ,-  Strada  Pro- 
lus.  vi.  Academ.  2.  c.  v. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK    III.          75 

To  temples,  courts  or  fields  ;  with  all  the  band 
Of  painted  forms,  of  passions  and  designs 
Attendant:  whence,  if  pleasing  in  itself,  34-5 

The  prospect  from  that  sweet  accession  gains 
Redoubled  influence  o'er  the  listening  mind. 
By  *  these  mysterious  ties  the  busy  power 
Of  memory  her  ideal  train  preserves 
Entire  ;  or,  when  they  would  elude  her  watch,         350 
Reclaims  their  fleeting  footsteps  from  the  waste 
Of  dark  oblivion;  thus  collecting  all 
The  various  forms  of  being,  to  present, 
Before  the  curious  aim  of  mimic  art, 
Their  largest  choice  :  like  spring's  unfolded  blooms 
Exhaling  sweetness,  that  the  skilful  bee  356 

May  taste  at  will,  from  their  selected  spoils 
To  work  her  dulcet  food.     For  not  the  expanse 
Of  living  lakes  in  summer's  noontide  cairn, 
Reflects  the  bordering  shade,  and  sun-bright  heavens 
With  fairer  semblance  ;  not  the  sculptured  gold       361 
More  faithful  keeps  the  graver's  lively  trace, 
Than  he  whose  birth  the  sister  powers  of  art 
Propitious  view'd,  and  from  his  genial  star 
Shed  influence  to  the  seeds  of  fancy  kind  ;  365 

Than  his  attempered  bosom  must  preserve 
The  seal  of  Nature.     There  alone  unchanged 
Her  form  remains.     The  balmy  walks  of  May 
There  breathe  perennial  sweets  :  the  trembling  chord 
Resounds  forever  in  the  abstracted  ear,  370 

Melodious  :  and  the  virgin's  radiant  eye, 
Superior  to  disease,  to  grief,  and  time, 

*  V.  348.  By  these  mysterious  ties  &e.  ]  The  act  of  remember- 
ing seeras  almost  wholly  to  dopcnd  on  the  association  of  ideas- 


76  THE  PLEASURES  OF 

Shines  with  unbating  lustre.     Thus  at  length 

Endow'd  with  all  that  Nature  can  bestow, 

The  child  of  Fancy  oft  in  silence  bends  375 

O'er  these  mixt  treasures  of  his  pregnant  breast 

With  conscious  pride.     From  them  he  oft  resolves 

To  frame  he  knows  not  what  excelling  things  j 

And  win  he  knows  not  what  sublime  reward 

Of  praise  and  wonder.     By  degrees,  the  mind          380 

Feels  her  young  nerves  dilate  :  the  plastic  powers 

Labour  for  action  :  blind  emotions  heave 

His  bosom  ;  and  with  loveliest  frenzy  caught, 

From  earth  to  heaven  he  rolls  his  daring  eye, 

From  heaven  to  earth.  Anon  ten  thousand  shapes,  385 

Like  spectres  trooping  to  the  wizard's  call, 

Flit  swift  before  him.     From  the  womb  of  earth, 

From  ocean's  bed  they  come  :  the  eternal  heavens 

Disclose  their  splendors,  and  the  dark  abyss 

Pours  out  her  births  unknown.     With  fixed  gaze     390 

He  marks  the  rising  phantoms ;  now  compares 

Their  different  forms ;  now  blends  them,  now  divides, 

Enlarges  and  extenuates  by  turns ; 

Opposes,  ranges  in  fantastic  bands, 

And  infinitely  varies.     Hither  now,  395 

Now  thither  fluctuates  his  inconstant  aim, 

With  endless  choice  perplex'd.     At  length  his  plan 

Begins  to  open  :  LUCID  ORDEK  DAWNS  ; 

And  as  from  Chaos  old  the  jarring  seeds 

Of  Nature  at  the  voice  divine  repair'd  400 

Each  to  its  place,  till  rosy  earth  unveil'd 

Her  fragrant  bosom,  and  the  joyful  sun 

Sprung  up  the  blue  serene ;  by  swift  degrees 

Thus  disentangled,  his  entire  design 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK    III.  77 

Emerges.     Colours  mingle,  features  join,  405 

And  lines  converge  :  the  fainter  parts  retire; 

The  fairer,  eminent  in  light  advance; 

And  every  image  on  its  neighbour  smiles. 

A  while  he  stands,  and  with  a  father's  joy 

Contemplates  ; — then  with  Promethean  art,  410 

Into  its  proper  vehicle  he  breathes 

The  fair  conception;  which,  embodied  thus,'1 

And  permanent,  becomes  to  eyes  or  ears 

An  object  ascertain'd  :  while  thus  informed, 

The  various  organs  of  his  mimic  skill,  415 

The  consonance  of  sounds,  the  featured  rock, 

The  shadowy  picture  and  impassioned  verse, 

Beyond  their  proper  powers  attract  the  soul 

By  that  expressive  semblance,  while  in  sight 

Of  Nature's  great  original  we  scan  420 

The  lively  child  of  Art ;  while  line  by  line, 

And  feature  after  feature  we  refer 

To  that  sublime  exemplar  whence  it  stole 

Those  animating  charms.     Thus  Beauty's  palm 

Betwixt  them  wavering  hangs  :  applauding  Love     425 

Doubts  where  to  chuse ;  and  mortal  man  aspires 

To  tempt  creative  praise.     As  when  a  cloud 

Of  gathering  hail  with  limpid  crusts  of  ice 

Inclosed  and  obvious  to  the  beaming  sun, 

Collects  his  large  effulgence ;  straight  the  heavens    430 

With  equal  flames  present  on  either  hand 

The  radiant  visage :  Persia  stands  at  gaze, 

Appall'd;  and  on  the  brink  of  Ganges  doubts 

*  V.  411.  Into  its  proper  vehicle,  &c-.  ]     This  relates  to  the  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  corporeal  mediums,  by  \vhich  the  ideas  of  the  artists 
are  rendered  palpable  to  the  senses ;  as  by  sounds,   in  music ;   by 
lines  and  shadows,  in  painting;  by  diction,  in  poetry,  &c. 
G  2 


78  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

The  snowy-vested  seer,  in  MITHRA'S  name, 

To  which  the  fragrance  of  the  south  shall  burn,       435 

To  which  his  warbled  orisons  ascend. 

Such  various  bliss  the  well-tuned  heart  enjoys, 
Favoured  of  Heaven  !   while  plunged  in  sordid  cares, 
The  unfeeling  vulgar  mock  the  boon  divine  : 
And  harsh  Austerity,  from  whose  rebuke  410 

Young  Love  and  smiling  Wonder  shrink  away 
Abash'd  and  chill  of  heart,  with  sager  frowns 
Condemns  the  fair  enchantment.     On  my  strain, 
Perhaps  even  now,  some  cold,  fastidious  judge 
Casts  a  disdainful  eye  ;  and  calls  my  toil,  44»5 

And  calls  the  Love  and  Beauty  which  I  sing,  > 

The  dream  of  Folly.     Thou,  grave  censor  !  say, 
Is  Beauty  then  a  dream,  because  the  glooms 
Of  dulness  hang  too  heavy  on  thy  sense, 
To  let  her  shine  upon  thee  r  So  the  man  450 

Whose  eye  ne'er  open'd  on  the  light  of  heaven, 
Might  smile  with  scorn  while  raptured  vision  tells 
Of  the  gay-coloured  radiance  flushing-  bright 
O'er  all  creation.     From  the  wise  be  far 
Such  gross  unhallow'd  pride;  nor  needs  my  song     455 
Descend  so  low  ;  but  rather  now  unfold, 
If  human  thought  can  reach,  or  words  unfold, 
By  what  mysterious  fabric  of  the  mind, 
The  deep-felt  joys  and  harmony  of  sound, 
Result  from  airy  motion  ;  and  from  shape  460 

The  lovely  phantoms  of  sublime  arid  fair. 
By  what  fine  ties  hath  GOD  connected  things 
When  present  in  the  mind,  which  in  themselves 
Have  no  connection  ?  Sure  the  rising  sun 
O'er  the  caerulean  convex  of  the  sea,  405 


IMAGINATION.    BOOK   III.          79 

With  equal  brightness  and  with  equal  warmth 

Might  roll  his  fiery  orb ;  nor  yet  the  soul 

THUS  feel  her  frame  expanded,  and  her  powers 

Exulting  in  the  splendor  she  beholds  ;  469 

Like  a  young  conqueror  moving  through  the  pomp 

Of  some  triumphal  day.     When  join'd  at  eve, 

Soft  murmuring  streams  and  gales  of  gentlest  breath 

Melodious  Philomela's  wakeful  strain 

Attemper  ; — could  not  man's  discerning  ear 

Through  all  its  tones  the  sympathy  pursue,  475 

Nor  yet  this  breath  divine  of  nameless  joy 

Steal  through  his  veins  and  fan  the  awakened  heart, 

Mild  as  the  breeze,  yet  rapturous  as  the  song  ? 

But  were  not  Nature  still  endowed  at  large 
With  all  that  LIFE  requires,  though  unadorned  480 

With  such  enchantment  ?  Wherefore  then  her  form 
Se  exquisitely  fair  ?  her  breath  perfumed 
With  such  oethereal  sweetness  ?  whence  her  voice 
Informed  at  will  to  raise  or  to  depress 
The  impassion'd  soul  ?  and  whence  the  robes  of  light 
Which  thus  invest  her  with  more  lovely  pomp          486 
Than  fancy  can  describe  ?  Whence  but  from  thee, 
O  SOURCE  DIVINE  of  ever-flowing  love  ! 
And  thy  unmeasured  goodness  ?  Not  content 
With  every  food  of  life  to  nourish  man ;  490 

By  kind  illusions  of  the  wondering  sense 
Thou  makest  all  Nature  beauty  to  his  eye, 
Or  music  to  his  ear  :  well-pleased  he  scans 
The  goodly  prospect,  and  with  inward  smiles, 
Treads  the  gay  verdure  of  the  painted  plain ;  495 

Beholds  the  azure  canopy  of  heaven, 
And  living  lamps,  that  over-arch  his  head 


80  THE   PLEASURES   OF 

With  more  than  regal  splendor  ;  bends  his  ears 

To  the  full  choir  of  water,  air,  and  earth  ; 

Nor  heeds  the  pleasing  error  of  his  thought,  500 

Nor  doubts  the  painted  green  or  azure  arch, 

Nor  questions  more  the  music's  mingling  sounds 

Than  space,  or  motion,  ©r  eternal  time ; 

So  sweet  he  feels  their  influence  to  attract 

The  fixed  soul;  to  brighten  the  dull  glooms  50£ 

Of  care,  and  make  the  destinM  road  of  life 

Delightful  to  his  feet.     So  fables  tell, 

The  adventurous  hero,  bound  on  hard  exploits, 

Beholds  with  glad  surprise,  by  secret  spells 

Of  some  kind  sage,  the  patron  of  his  toils,  510 

A  visionary  paradise  disclosed 

Amid  the  dubious  wild  :  with  streams  and  shades, 

And  airy  songs,  the  enchanted  landscape  smiles, 

Cheers  his  long  labours  and  renews  his  frame. 

Wiiat  then  is  TASTE,  but  these  internal  powers      5 15 
Active,  arid  strong,  and  feelingly  alive 
To  each  fine  impulse  ?  a  discerning  sense 
Of  decent  and  sublime,  with  quick  disgust 
From  things  deformed,  or  disarranged*  or  gross 
In  species  ?  This,  nor  gems,  nor  stores  of  gold,         520 
Nor  purple  state,  nor  culture  can  bestow ; 
But  GOD  alone,  when  first  his  active  hand 
Imprints  the  secret  bias  of  the  soul. 
He,  mighty  parent !  wise  and  just  in  all, 
Free  as  the  vital  breeze  or  light  of  heaven,  525 

Reveals  the  charms  of  Nature.     Ask  the  swain 
Who  journeys  homeward  from  a  summer-day's 
Long  labour,  why,  forgetful  of  his  toils 
And  due  repose,  he  loiters  to  behold 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    III.        81 

The  sunshine  gleaming  as  through  amber  clouds,     530 

O'er  all  the  western  sky ;  full  soon,  I  ween, 

His  rude  expression  and  untutorM  airs, 

Beyond  the  power  of  language,  will  unfold 

The  form  of  Beauty  smiling  at  his  heart, 

How  lovely  !  how  commanding  !  But  though  heaven 

In  every  breast  hath  sown  these  early  seeds  536 

Of  love  and  admiration,  yet  in  vain, 

Without  fair  culture's  kind  parental  aid, 

Without  enlivening  suns,  and  genial  showers> 

And  shelter  from  the  blast,  in  vain  we  hope  540 

The  tender  plant  should  rear  its  blooming  head, 

Or  yield  the  harvest  promised  in  its  spring. 

Nor  yet  will  every  soil  with  equal  stores 

Repay  the  tiller's  labour ;  or  attend 

His  will,  obsequious,  whether  to  produce  545 

The  olive  or  the  laurel.     Different  minds 

Incline  to  different  objects  :  *  one  pursues 

The  vast  alone,  the  wonderful,  the  wild  • 

Another  sighs  for  harmony,  and  grace,  549 

And  gentlest  beauty.     Hence  when  lightning  fires 

The  arch  of  heaven,  and  thunders  rock  the  ground, 

When  furious  whirlwinds  rend  the  howling  air, 

And  ocean,  groaning  from  his  lowest  bed, 

Heaves  his  tempestuous  billows  to  the  sky ; 

Amid  the  mighty  uproar,  while  below  555 

The  nations  tremble,  SHAKESPEARE  looks  abroad 

From  some  high  cliff,  superior,  and  enjoys 


V.  547. One  pursues 

The  vast  alone,  &c.]     See  the  note  to  verse  18  of  this  book, 


82  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

The  elemental  war  ;  but  *  WALLER  longs, 

Ail  on  the  margin  of  some  flowery  stream, 

To  spread  his  careless  limbs,  amid  the  cool  560 

Of  plantane  shades,  and  to  the  listening  deer 

The  tale  of  slighted  vows,  and  love's  disdain 

Resound  so  ft- warbling  all  the  live-long  day  : 

Consenting  Zephyr  sighs,  the  weeping  rill 

Joins  in  his  plaint,  melodious ;  mute  the  groves ;     565 

And  hill  and  dale  with  all  their  echoes  mourn. 

Such  and  so  various  are  the  tastes  of  men  ! 

OH  BLEST  OF  HEAVEN  !  whom  not  the  languid  songs 
Of  Luxury,  the  Siren  ;  not  the  bribes 
Of  sordid  Wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils  570 

Of  pageant  Honour,  can  seduce  to  leave 
Those  ever-blooming  sweets,  which  from  the  store 
Of  Nature  fair  Imagination  culls 
To  charm  the  enlivened  soul !     What  though  not  all 
Of  mortal  offspring  can  attain  the  heights  575 

Of  envied  life  ;  though  only  few  posses* 
Patrician  treasures  or  imperial  state ; 
Yet  Nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  just, 
With  richer  treasures  and  an  ampler  state, 
Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man  580 

Will  deign  to  use  them.     His  the  city's  pomp, 
The  rural  honours  HIS  :  whatever  adorns 

*  V,  558.     Waller  longs,  &c.] 

O !  honf  I  lo-ng  my  careless  limb*  to  lay 
Under  the  plantane  shade  ;  and  all  the  day 
With  amorous  airs  my  fancy  entertain,  &c. 

WALLER,  Battle  of  the  Summer-Islands,  Canto  L 

And  again, 

While  in  the,  park  7  sing,  the  listening  deer 
Attend  my  fission)  and  forget  to  fear,  &c. 

At  Peru-hurst. 


IMAGINATION.     BOOK  III.         S3 

The  princely  dome,  the  column  and  the  arch, 

The  breathing  marbles  and  the  sculptured  goW, 

Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim  585 

His  tuneful  breast  enjoys.     For  him  the  Spring 

Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  gem 

Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds  :  for  him,  the  hand 

Of  Autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch 

With  blooming  gold  and  blushes  like  the  Morn  :       590 

Each  passing  Hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings  ; 

And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 

And  loves  unfelt  attract  him.     Not  a  breeze  * 

Flies  o'er  the  meadow,  not  a  cloud  imbibes 

The  setting  sun's  effulgence,  not  a  strain  595 

From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 

Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 

Fresh  pleasure  unreproved  :  nor  thence  partakes 

Fresh  pleasure  only ;  for  the  attentive  mind 

By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers  600 

Becomes  herself  harmonious  :  wont  so  oft 

In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 

Of  sacred  Order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home 

V.  593. Not  a  breeze,  £fc  ]     That  this  acconnt  may  not 

appear  rather  poetically  extravagant  than  just  in  philosophy,  it  may 
be  proper  to  produce  the  sentiment  of  one  of  the  greatest,  wisest, 
and  best  of  men  on  this  head  ;  one  so  little  to  be  suspected  of  par- 
tiality in  the  case,  that  he  reckons  it  among  these  favours  for  which 
he  was  especially  thankful  to  the  gods,  that  they  had  not  suriered 
him  to  make  any  great  proficiency  in  the  arts  of  eloquence  and  poe- 
try, lest  by  that  means  he  should  have  been  diverted  from  pursuits 
of  more  importance  to  his  high  station.  Speaking  ef  the  beauty  of 
universal  Nature,  he  observes,  that  there  in  a  pleasing  and  graceful 
aspect  in  every  object  we  perceive,  when  once  we  consider  its  connec- 
tion with  that  general  order.  He  instances  in  many  things  which 
at  first  sight  would  be  thought  rather  deformities,  and  thc*n  adds, 
that  a  man  who  enjoys  a  sensibility  of  temper,  with  a  just  comprehension 
of  tke  universal  orde/ — will  discern  ir.any  amiable  things,  not  credible 
to  every  mind,  but  to  those  a' one  who  nave  entered  -nto  an  honourable 
familiarity  with  Nature  and  her  works*  M.  Aritunin.  iii,  2. 


84.  THE   PLEASURES    OF  &c> 

To  find  a  kindred  Order,  to  exert 
Within  herself  this  elegance  of  love,  605 

This  fair-inspired  delight :  her  tempered  powers 
Refine  at  length,  and  every  passion  wears 
A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive,  mien. 
But  if  to  ampler  prospects,  if  to  gaze 
On  Nature's  form,  where,  negligent  of  all  010 

These  lesser  graces,  she  assumes  the  port 
Of  that  ETERNAL  MAJESTY  that  weigh'd 
The  world's  foundations ;  if  to  these  the  mind 
Exalts  her  daring  eye  ; — then  mightier  far 
Will  be  the  change,  and  nobler.  Would  the  forms    615 
Of  servile  custom  cramp  her  generous  powers  ? 
Would  sordid  policies,  the  barbarous  growth 
Of  Ignorance  and  Rapine,  bow  her  down 
To  tame  pursuits,  to  indolence  and  fear  ? 
Lo  !  she  appeals  to  Nature,  to  the  winds  620 

And  rolling  waves,  the  sun's  unwearied  course, 
The  elements  and  seasons  :  all  declare 
For  what  the  ETERNAL  MAKER  has  ordain'd 
The  powers  of  man  :  we  feel  within  ourselves 
His  energy  divine  :  he  tells  the  heart  625 

He  meant,  he  made  us  to  behold  and  love, 
What  HE  beholds  and  loves,  the  gene  al  orb 
Of  life  and  being  ;  to  be  great  like  him, 
Beneficent  and  active.     Thus  the  men  629 

Whom  Nature's  works  can  charm  with  GOD  himself 
Hold  converse  ;  grow  familiar  day  by  day 
With  HIS  conceptions,  act  upon  HIS  plan, 
And  form  to  HIS,  the  relish  of  their  souls.  633 

~j 

THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  THIRD. 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION 


A     P  O  E  M. 


E  N  L  A  R  G  E  D. 


The  child  of  FANCY  oft  in  silence  bends 
O'er  these  mix'd  treasures  of  his  pregnant  breast 
l  With  conscious  pride  " 


H 


86         THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 


THE   GENERAL   ARGUMENT. 

THE  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination  proceed  cither  from 
natural  objects,  as  from  a  flourishing  grove,  a  clear  and 
murmuring  fountain,  a  calm  sea  by  moonlight;  or  from 
works  of  art,  such  as  a  noble  edifice,  a  musical  tune,  a 
statue,  a  picture t  a  poem.  In  treating  of  these  Pleasures 
we  must  begin  with  the  former  class,  they  being  original 
to  the  other ;  and  nothing  more  being  necessary,  in  order 
to  explain  them,  than  a  view  of  our  natural  inclination 
toward  greatness  and  beauty,  and  of  those  appearances 
in  the  world  around  us,  to  which  that  inclination  is 
adapted.  This  is  the  subject  of  the  First  Book  of  the 
following  Poem. 

But  the  Pleasures  which  we  receive  from  the  elegant  arts, 
from  music,  sculpture,  painting,  and  poetry,  are  much 
more  various  and  complicated.  In  them  (besides  great- 
ness  and  beauty,  or  forms  proper  to  the  Imagination}  we 
find  interwoven  frequent  representations  of  truth,  of 
virtue  and  vice,  of  circumstances  proper  to  move  us 
with  laughter,  or  to  excite  in  us  pity,  fear,  and  the  other 
passions.  These  moral  and  intellectual  objects  are  de- 
scribed in  the  Second  Book;  to  which  the  Third  proper- 
ly belongs  as  an  episode,  though  too  large  to  have  been 
included  in  it. 

With  the  above-jnentioned  causes  of  pleasure,  which  are 
universal  in  the  course  of  human  life  and  appertain  to 
our  higher  faculties,  many  others  do  generally  concur t 


I  M  A  G  1  N  A  TIG  N,         B.  I.  87 


THE   GENERAL    ARGUMENT. 

more  limited  in  their  operation,  or  of  an  inferior  ori- 
gin: such  are  the  novelty  of  objects,  the  association 

of  ideas,  affections  of  the  bodily  senses,  influences  of  ed- 
ucation, national  habits,  and  the  like.  To  illustrate 
these,  and  from  the  whole  to  determine  the  character 
of  a  perfect  taste,  is' the  argument  of  the  Fourth  Book. 

Hitherto  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  belong  to  the 
human  species  in  general.  But  there  are  certain  par- 
ticular men  whose  imagination  is  endowed  with  powers, 
and  susceptible  of  pleasures,  which  the  generality  of 
mankind  never  participate  :  these  are  the  men  of  genius, 
destined  by  nature  to  excel  in  one  or  other  of  the  arts 
already  mentioned.  It  is  proposed  therefore,  in  the 
last  place,  to  delineate  that  genius  which  in  some  degree 
appears  common  to  them  all ;  yet  with  a  more  peculiar 
consideration  of  poetry  :  inasmuch  as  poetry  is  the  most 
extensive  of  those  arts,  the  most  philosophical,  and  the 
most  useful. 


N.  B.  The  figures  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  in  both  the  poems, 
refer  to  the  similar  passages  in  each,  for  the  convenience  of  those 
who  may  wish  to  compare  them. 


ARGUMENT 


THE    FIRST    BOOK. 


THE  subject  proposed.  Dedication.  The  ideas  of  the  supfeme 
being,  the  exemplars  of  all  thing?.  The  variety  of  constitution 
in  the  minds  of  men;  with  its  final  cause.  The  general  charac- 
ter of  a  fine  imagination.  All  the  immediate  pleasures  of  the 
human  imagination  proceed  either  from  greatness  or  beauty  in 
external  objects.  The  pleasure  from  greatness;  with  its  final 
cause.  The  natural  connection  of  beauty  with  *  truth  and  good* 
The  different  orders  of  beauty  in  different  objects.  The  infinite 
and  all-comprehending  form  of  beauty,  which  belongs  to  the  di- 
vine mind.  The  partial  and  artificial  forms  of  beauty,  which 
belong  to  inferior  intellectual  beings.  The  origin  and  general  con- 
duct of  beauty  in  man.  The  subordination  of  local  beauties  to, 
to  the  beauty  of  the  universe.  Conclusion. 


*  Truth  is  here  taken  not  in  a  logical,  but  in  a  mi  fed  and  popular 
sense,  or  for  what  has  been  called  the  truth  of  things  ;  denoting  aj  :?*•// 
tkeif  natural  and  regular  condition,  as  a  proper  estimate  or  judgment 
concerning  them. 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION 


BOOK    THE    FIRST. 


MDCCLVII. 

WlTH  what  inchantment  Nature's  goodly  scene 
Attracts  the  sense  of  mortals ;  how  the  mind 
For  its  own  eye  doth  objects  nobler  still 
Prepare  ;  how  men  by  various  lessons  learn 
To  judge  of  BEAUTY'S  praise;  what  raptures  fill  5 

The  breast  with  Fancy's  native  arts  endowed 
And  what  true  culture  guides  it  to  renown  ; 
My  verse  unfolds.     Ye  GODS,  or  GODLIKE  POWERS, 
Ye  guardians  of  the  sacred  task,  attend 
Propitious.     Hand  in  hand  around  your  bard  10 

Move  in  majestic  measures,  leading  on 
His  doubtful  step  through  many  a  solemn  path, 
Conscious  of  secrets  which  to  human  sight 
Ye  only  can  reveal.     Be  great  in  him  : 
H  2 


90  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

And  let  your  favour  make  him  wise  to  speak  15 

Of  all  your  wonderous  empire  ;  with  a  voice 
So  temper'd  to  his  theme,  that  those,  who  hear, 
May  yield  perpetual  homage  to  yourselves. 
Thou  chief,  O  DAUGHTER  OF  ETERNAL  LOVE  i 
Whatever  thy  name ;  or  MUSE,  or  GRACE,  adored        20 
By  Grecian  prophets  ;  to  the  sons  of  heaven 
Known,  while  with  deep  amazement  thou  dost  there 
The  perfect  counsels  read,  the  ideas  old, 
Of  thine  OMNISCIENT  FATHER;  known  on  earth 
By  the  STILL  HORROR  and  the  BLISSFUL  TEAR  25 

With  which  thou  seizest  on  the  soul  of  man ; 
Thou  *  chief,  POETIC  SPIRIT,  from  the  banks 
Of  Avon,  whence  thy  holy  fingers  cull 
Fresh  flowers  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf 
Where  SHAKRSPEAR  lies,  be  present ;  and  with  thee     30 
Let  FICTION  come,  on  her  aerial  wings 
Wafting  ten  thousand  colours;  which  in  sport, 
By  the  light  glances  of  her  magic  eye, 
She  blends  and  shifts  at  will  through  countless  forms> 
Her  wild  creation.     Goddess  t  of  the  lyre,  35 

WThose  awful  tones  control  the  moving  sphere, 
Wilt  t  thou,  eternal  HARMONY,  descend, 
Arid  join  this  happy  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  mystic  rites, 
Wise  ORDER  :  and,  where  ORDER  deigns  to  come,       40 
Her  sister,  LIBERTY,  will  not  be  far. 
Be  present  all  ye  GENII,  who  conduct 
Of  youthful  bards  the  lonely-wandering  step 
New  to  your  springs  and  shades  ;  who  touch  their  ear 
With  finer  sounds,  and  heighten  to  their  eye  45 

*  Book  I,  line  9.         f  Book  I,  line  18,       }  Book  I,  line  2p. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  I.  91 

The  pomp  of  Nature,  and  before  them  place 
The  fairest,  loftiest  countenance  of  things. 
Nor  thou,  my  DYSON,  to  the  lay  refuse 
Thy  wonted  partial  audience.     What,  though  first 
In  years  unseasoned,  haply  ere  the  sports  50 

Of  childhood  yet  were  o'er,  the  adventurous  lay 
With  many  splendid  prospects,  many  charms, 
Allured  my  heart,  nor  conscious  whence  they  sprung, 
Nor  heedful  of  their  end  ?  yet  serious  truth 
Her  empire  o'er  the  calm,  sequestered  theme  55 

Asserted  soon  ;  while  falsehood's  evil  brood, 
Vice  and  deceitful  pleasure,  she  at  once 
Excluded,  and  my  fancy's  careless  toil 
l)rew  to  the  better  cause.     Maturer  aid 
Thy  friendship  added,  in  the  paths  of  life,  60 

The  busy  paths,  my  unaccustomed  feet 
Preserving  :  nor  to  TRUTH'S  RECESS  DIVINE, 
Through  this  wide  argument's  unbeaten  space, 
Withholding  surer  guidance;   while  by  turns 
We  traced  the  sages  old,  or  while  the  queen  65 

Of  Sciences  (whom  manners  and  the  mind 
Acknowledge)  to  my  true  companion's  voice 
Not  unattentive,  o'er  the  wintery  lamp 
Inclined  her  sceptre,  favouring.     Now  the  Fates 
Have  other  tasks  imposed.     To  thee,  my  friend,         70 
The  ministry  of  freedom,  and  the  faith 
Of  popular  decrees,  in  early  youth, 
Not  vainly  they  committed.     Me  they  sent 
To  wait  on  pain  ;  and  silent  arts  to  urge, 
Inglorious  :  not  ignoble  ;  if  my  cares,  75 

To  such  as  languish  on  a  grievous  bed, 


92          THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Ease  and  the  sweet  forgetfulness  of  ill 

Conciliate  :  nor  delightless  ;  if  the  Muse, 

Her  shades  to  visit  and  to  taste  her  springs, 

If  some  distinguish^  hours  the  bounteous  Muse          80 

Impart,  and  grant  (what  she,  and  she  alone 

Can  grant  to  mortals)  that  my  hand  those  wreaths 

Of  fame  and  honest  favour,  which  the  blessed 

Wear  in  Elysium,  and  which  never  felt 

The  breath  of  envy  or  malignant  tongues,  85 

That  these  my  hand  for  thee  and  for  myself 

May  gather.     Meanwhile,  O  my  faithful>friend, 

O  early  chosen,  ever  found  the  same, 

And  trusted  arid  beloved  !  once  more  the  verse 

Long  destined,  always  obvious  to  thine  ear,  90 

Attend,  indulgent.     So  in  latest  years, 

When  time  thy  head  with  honours  shall  have  cloth'd 

Sacred  to  even  virtue,  may  thy  mind, 

Amid  the  calm  review  of  seasons  past, 

Eair  offices  of  friendship,  or  kind  peace,  95 

Or  public  zeal  ;— may  then  thy  mind  well  pleased 

Recal  these  happy  studies  of  our  prime. 

From  *  heaven  my  strains  begin.     From  heaven  de- 
The  flame  of  genius  to  the  chosen  breast,  [scends 

And  beauty  with  poetic  wonder  joinrd,  100 

And  inspiration.     Ere  the  rising  sun 
Shone  o'er  the  deep,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  night 
The  moon  her  silver  lamp  suspended  :  ere 
The  vales  with  springs  were  watered,  or  with  groves 
Of  oak  or  pine  the  ancient  hills  were  crown'd  ;          105 
Then  the  GREAT  SPIRIT,  whom  his  works  adore, 
Within  his  own  deep  essence  view'd  the  forms, 
*  Boot  I,  line  56. 


IMAGINATION.         B.  I.  93 

The  forms  eternal  of  created  things  ; 

The  radiant  sun  ;  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp ; 

The  mountains  and  the  streams;  the  ample,  stores    110 

Of  earth,  of  heaven,  of  nature.     From  the  first, 

On  that  full  scene  his  love  divine  he  fix'd, 

His  admiration.     Till,  in  time  complete, 

What  he  admired  and  loved,  his  vital  power 

Unfolded  into  being-.     Hence  the  breath  1 15 

Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame  : 

Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild  -resounding  waves  : 

Hence  light,  and  shade  alternate  ;  warmth  and  cold  ; 

And  bright  autumnal  skies,  and  vernal  showers, 

And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things.  120 

But  f  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye, 
Is  this  great  scene  unveiFd.     For,  while  the  claims 
Of  social  life  to  different  labours  urge 
The  active  powers  of  man,  with  wisest  care 
Hath  Nature  on  the  multitude  of  minds  1 25 

Impressed  a  various  bias;   and  to  each 
Decreed  its  province  in  the  common  toil. 
To  some  she  taught  the  fabric  of  the  sphere, 
The  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  stars, 
The  golden  zones  of  heaven.     To  some  she  gave       ISO 
To  search  the  story  of  eternal  thought; 
Of  space,  and  time  ;  of  fate's  unbroken  chain, 
And  WILL'S  quick  movement : — others  by  the  hand 
She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 
What  healing  virtue  dwells  in  every  vein  135 

Of  herbs  or  trees.     But  some  to  nobler  hopes 
Were  destined  :  some  within  a  finer  mould 
She  wrought,  and  temper'd  with  a  purer  flame. 
f  Book  \3  line  79, 


94  T  H  E  P  L  E  A  S  U  R  E  S  OF  THE 

To  these  the  SIRE  OMNIPOTENT  unfolds, 

In  fuller  aspects  and  with  fairer  lights,  140 

This  PICTURE  OF  THE  WORLD  i — through  every  part 

They  trace  the  lofty  sketches  of  his  hand : 

In  earth,  or  air,  the  meadow's  flowery  store, 

The  moon's  mild  radiance,  or  the  virgin's  mien 

Dress'd  in  attractive  smiles,  they  see  portray  Jd          14,5 

(As  far  as  mortal  eyes  the  portrait  scan) 

Those  lineaments  of  beauty  which  delight 

The  mind  supreme ;— «they  also  feel  their  force, 

Enarnour'd  :  they  partake  the  ETERNAL  JOY. 

For  *  as  old  MEMNON'S  IMAGE,  long  renown'd       150 
Through  fabling  Egypt,  at  the  genial  touch 
Of  morning,  from  its  inmost  frame  sent  forth 
Spontaneous  music  ;  so  doth  Nature's  hand, 
To  certain  attributes  which  matter  claims, 
Adapt  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind  :  155 

So  the  glad  impulse  of  those  kindred  powers 
(Of  form,  of  colour's  cheerful  pomp,  of  sound 
Melodious,  or  of  motion  aptly  sped) 
Detains  the  enliven'd  sense;  till  soon  the  soul 
Feels  the  deep  concord,  and  assents  through  all         160 
Her  functions.     Then  the  charm  by  Fate  prepared 
Diffuseth  its  inchantment :  Fancy  t  dreams, 
Rapt  into  high  discourse  with  prophets  old, 
And  wandering  through  Elysium,  Fancy  dreams 
Of  sacred  fountains,  of  o'ershadowing  groves,  165 

Whose  walks  with  godlike  harmony  resound  : 
Fountains,  which  HOMER  visits  ;  happy  groves, 
Where  MILTON  dwells.     The  INTELLECTUAL  POWER, 
On  the  mind's  throne,  suspends  his  graver  cares, 
*  Bock  I,  line  109.  f  Book  I,  line  135, 


IMAGINATION.         B.I.  D5 

And  smiles.     The  passions,  to  divine  repose,  170 

Persuaded  yield  :  and  LOVE  and  JOY  alone 

Are  waking :  LOVE  and  JOY,  such  as  await 

An  angel's  meditation.     O  !   attend, 

Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  these  delights  can  touch ; 

Whom  NATURE'S  aspect,  NATURE'S  simple  garh,         175 

Con  thus  command  :  O  !  listen  to  my  song, 

And  I  will  guide  thee  to  her  blissful  walks, 

And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear, 

And  point  her  gracious  features  to  thy  view. 

Know  *  then,  whate'er  of  the  world's  ancient  store, 
Whatever  of  mimic  art's  reflected  scenes,  181 

With  love  and  admiration  thus  inspire 
Attentive  Fancy  ; — her  delighted  sons 
In  two  illustrious  orders  comprehend, 
Self-taught.     From  him,  whose  rustic  toil  the  lark  185 
Cheers  warbling-,  to  the  bard,  whose  daring  thoughts 
Range  the  full  orb  of  being,  still  the  form, 
Which  Fancy  worships,  or  SUBLIME  or  FAIII 
Her  votaries  proclaim.     I  see  them  dawn  : 
I  see  the  radiant  visions,  where  they  rise  190 

More  lovely,  than  when  Lucifer  displays 
His  glittering  forehead  through  the  gates  of  morn, 
To  lead  the  train  of  Phoebus  and  the  Spring. 

Say,  f  why  was  MAN  so  eminently  raised 
Amid  the  vast  creation  ;  why  impower'd  105 

Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  watchful  eye, 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame  ; 
But  that  the  OMNIPOTENT  might  send  him  forth, 
In  sight  of  angels  and  immortal  minds, 
As  on  an  ample  theatre,  to  join  200 

*  Book  I,  line  159.         f  Hoc*  T,   li-ie  151. 


9(3  THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

In  contest  with  his  equals,  who  shall  best 

The  task  atchieve,  the  course  of  noble  toils, 

By  WISDOM  and  by  MERCY  preordained  ? 

Might  send  him  forth  the  SOVRAN  GOOD  to  learn  ; 

To  chace  each  meaner  purpose  from  his  breast ;       205 

And  through  the  mists  of  passion  and  of  sense, 

-And  through  the  pelting  storms  of  chance  and  pain, 

To  hold  straight  on  with  constant  heart  and  eye 

Still  fix'd  upon  his  everlasting  palm, 

The  approving  smile  of  Heaven  ?  *  Else,  wherefore  burns 

In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope,  211 

That  seeks  from  day  to  day  sublimer  ends ; 

Happy,  though  restless  ?     Why  departs  the  soul 

Wide  from  the  track  and  journey  of  her  times, 

To  grasp  the  good  she  knows  not  ?  in  the  field         215 

Of  things  which  MAY  BE,  in  the  spacious  field 

Of  science,  potent  arts,  or  dreadful  arms ; 

To  raise  up  scenes,  in  which  her  own  desires 

Contented  may  repose ;  when  things,  which  ARE, 

Pall  on  her  temper,  like  a  twice-told  tale ;  220 

Her  temper  still  demanding  to  be  fre« ; 

Spurning  the  rude  control  of  wilful  Might ; 

Proud  f  of  her  dangers  braved,  her  griefs  endured, 

Her  strength  severely  proved  ?  To  these  HIGH  aims, 

Which  reason  and  affection  prompt  in  man,  225 

Not  adverse  nor  unapt  hath  Nature  framed 

His  bold  imagination.     For,  amid 

The  various  forms  which  this  full  world  presents 

Like  rivals  to  his  choice,  what  human  breast 

E'er  doubts,  before  the  TRANSIENT  and  MINUTE,         230 

To  prize  the  VAST,  the  STABLE,  the  SUBLIME  ? 

*  Book  I,  line  166  f  Boot  I,  line  173. 


IMAGINATION,         B.  I.          97 

Who,  that  from  heights  aerial  sends  his  eye 

Around  a  wild  horizon,  and  surveys 

Indus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  broad  wave  234 

Thro'  mountains,  plahrs>  thro*  spacious  cities  old, 

And  regions  dark  with  woods;  will  turn  away 

To  mark  the  path  of  some  penurious  rill 

Which  murmureth  at  his  feet  ?   Where  does  the  SOUL 

Consent  her  soaring  fancy  to  restrain, 

Which  tears  her  up,  as  on  an  eagle's  wings,  24O 

Destin'd  for  highest  heaven  9  or  which  of  Fate's 

Tremendous  barriers  shall  confine  her  flight 

To  any  humbler  quarry  ?     The  rich  earth 

Cannot  detain  her;  nor  the  ambient  air 

With  all  its  changes  :•**•*  f  for  a  while,  with  joy         245 

She  hovers  o'er  the  sun,  and  views  the  small 

Attendant  orbs,  beneath  his  sacred  beam, 

Emerging  from  the  deep,  like  cluster'd  isles, 

Whose  rocky  shores  to  the  glad  sailor's  eye 

Reflect  the  gleams  of  nforning  :— ^-for  a  while,  250 

With  pride  she  sees  his  firm  paternal  sway 

Bend  the  reluctant  planets,  to  move  each 

Hound  its  perpetual  year :  but  soon  she  quits 

That  prospect :  meditating  loftier  views, 

She  darts  adventurous  up  the  long  career  255 

Of  comets ;  through  the  constellations  holds 

Her  course,  and  now  looks  back  on  all  the  stars, 

Whose  blended  flames  as  with  a  milky  stream 

Part  -the  blue  region  :— ^empyrean  *  tracts, 

Where  happy  souls  beyond  this  concave  heaven       26Q 

Abide,  she  then  explores  ;  whence  purer  light 

For  countless  ages  travels  through  the  abyss, 

f  Eook  I,  line  190.  *  Book  I,  line  202. 


93  THE   PLEASURES   OF  T H E 

Nor  hath  in  sight  of  mortals  yet  arrived  : 

Upon  the  wide  creation's  utmost  shore 

At  length  she  stands,  and  the  dread  space  beyond   265 

Contemplates,  half  recoiling;  nathless,  down 

The  gloomy  void,  astonished,  yet  unquell'd, 

She  plungeth  ; — down  the  unfathomable  gulf 

Where  GOD  alone  hath  being  :  there  *  her  hopes 

Best  at  the  fated  goal :  for  from  the  birth  270 

Of  human  kind,  the  SOVRAN  MAKER  said, 

That  not  in  humble,  nor  in  brief  delight, 

Not  in  the  fleeting  echoes  of  Renown, 

Power's  purple  robe,  nor  Pleasured  flowery  lap, 

The  SOUL  should  find  contentment;  but  from  these  275 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 

Through  Nature's  opening  walks  enlarge  her  aim. 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear, 

And  INFINITE  PERFECTION  fill  the  scene.  279 

But  f  lo  !  where  BEAUTY,  dress'd  in  gentler  pomp, 
With  comely  steps  advancing,  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  inspire,     O  BEAUTY  !  source  of  praise, 
Of  honour,  e'en  to  mute  and  lifeless  things  \ 
O  thou,  that  kindlest  in  each  human  heart 
Love,  and  the  wish  of  poets,  when  their  tongue        285 
Would  teach  to  other  bosoms  what  so  charms 
Their  own  !  O  child  of  Nature  and  the  soul, 
In  happiest  hour  brought  forth;   the  doubtful  garb 
Of  words,  of  earthly  language,  all  too  mean, 
Too  lowly  I  ac.count>  in  which  to  clothe  290 

Thy  form  divine.     For  thee  the  mind  alone 
Beholds  ;  nor  half  thy  brightness  can  reveal 
Through  those  dim  organs,  whose  corporeal  touch 
*  Book  I,  line  211.  -(   Book  I,  line  271. 


IMAGINATION.         B.  I.  99 

O'ershadoweth  thy  pure  essence.     Yet,  my  Muse, 

If  fortune  call  thee  to  the  task,  wait  thou  295 

Thy  favourable  seasons  :  then,  while  fear 

And  doubt  are  absent,  through  wide  Nature's  bounds 

Expatiate  with  glad  step,  and  choose  at  will 

Whatever  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains, 

Whate'er  the  waters,  or  the  liquid  air,  300 

To  manifest  unblemished  BEAUTY'S  praise, 

And  o'er  the  breasts  of  mortals  to  extend 

Her  gracious  empire.     *  Wilt  thou,  to  the  isles 

Atlantic,  to  the  rich  Hesperian  clime 

Fly  in  the  train  of  Autumn  ;  and  look  on,  305 

And  learn  from  him ;  while,  as  he  roves  around, 

Where'er  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove, 

The  branches  bloom  with  gold ;  where'er  his  fool 

Imprints  the  soil,  the  ripening  clusters  swell, 

Turning  aside  their  foliage,  and  come  forth  310 

In  purple  lights,  till  every  hilloc  glows 

As  with  the  blushes  ot  an  evening  sky  ? 

Or  wilt  thou  that  Thessalian  landscape  trace, 

Where  slow  Peneus  his  clear  glassy  tide 

Draws  smooth  along,  between  the  winding  clifis       315 

Of  Ossa,  and  the  pathless  woods  unshorn 

That  wave  o'er  huge  Olympus  ?     Down  the  stream, 

Look  how  the  mountains  with  their  double  range 

Embrace  the  vale  of  Tempe  ;  from  each  side 

Ascending  steep  to  heaven,  a  rocky  mound  320 

Cover'd  with  ivy  and  the  laurel  boughs 

That  crown'd  young  Phoebus  for  the  Python  slain. 

Fair  Tempe!  on  whose  primrose  banks  the  morn 

Awoke  most  fragrant,  and  the  noon  reposed 

*  Book  I,  line  287. 


100         THE   PLEASURES   OF    THE 

In  pomp  of  lights  and  shadows  most  sublime  :          325 

Whose  lawns,  whose  glades,  ere  human  footsteps  yet 

Had  traced  an  entrance,  were  the  hallow'd  haunt 

Of  sylvan  powers  immortal :  where  they  sate 

Oft  in  the  golden  age,  the  Nymphs  and  Fauns, 

Beneath  some  arbour  branching  o'er  the  flood,          330 

And  leaning  round,  hung  on  the  instructive  lips 

Of  hoary  PAN,  or  o'er  some  open  dale 

Danced  in  light  measures  to  his  sevenfold  pipe, 

While  Zephyr's  wanton  hand  along  their  path 

Flung  showers  of  painted  blossoms,  fertile  dews,       335 

And  one  perpetual  spring.     But  if  our  task 

More  lofty  rites  demand,  with  all  good  vows 

Then  let  us  hasten  to  the  rural  haunt 

Where  young  MELISSA  dwells.     Nor  thou  refuse 

The  voice  which  calls  thee  from  thy  loved  retreat, 

But  *  hither,  gentle  maid,  tby  footsteps  turn  :  3il 

Here,  to  thy  own  unquestionable  theme, 

O  fair  !   O  graceful !  bend  th}^  polishM  brow, 

Assenting ;  and  the  gladness  of  thy  eyes 

Impart  to  me,  like  morning's  wished  light  34-5 

Seen  through  the  vernal  air.     By  yonder  stream, 

Where  beech  and  elm  along  the  bordering  mead 

Send  forth  wild  melody  from  every  bough, 

Together  let  us  wander ;  where  the  hills 

Cover'd  with  fleeces  to  the  lowing  vale  35® 

Reply  ;  where  tidings  of  content  and  peace 

Each  echo  brings.     Lo,  how  the  western  sun, 

O'er  fields  and  floods,  o'er  every  living  soul, 

Biftuseth  glad  repose  !     There,  while  I  speak 

Of  BEAUTY'S  honours,  thou,  MELISSA,  thou  353- 

•Book  I, /me  312. 


IMAGINATION..       .JB.  I.  101 

Shalt  hearken,  not  unconscious  :  while- 1  tell 
How  first  from  heaven  she  came ;  how  after  ali 
The  works  of  life,  the  elemental  scenes, 
The  hours,  the  seasons,  she  had  oft  explored, 
At  length  her  favourite  mansion  and  her  throne        360 
She  fix'd  in  woman's  form  :  what  pleasing  ties 
To  virtue  bind  her;  what  effectual  aid 
They  lend  each  other's  power ;  and  how  divine 
Their  union,  should  some  unambitious  maid, 
To  all  the  inchantment  of  the  Idalian  queen,  365 

Add  sanctity  and  wisdom.     While  my  tongue 
Prolongs  the  tale,  MELISSA,  thou  may'st  feign 
To  wonder  whence  my  rapture  is  inspired ; 
But  soon  the  smile  which  dawns  upon  thy  lip 
Shall  tell  it,  and  the  tenderer  bloom  o'er  all  370 

That  soft  cheek  springing  to  the  marble  neek, 
Which  bends  aside  in  vain,  revealing  more 
What  it  would  thus  keep  silent,  and  in  vain 
The  sense  of  praise  dissembling.     Then  my  song 
Great  Nature's  winning  arts,  which  thus  inform       375 
With  joy  and  love  the  rugged  breast  of  man, 
Should  sound  in  numbers  worthy  such  a  theme  : 
While  all  whose  souls  have  ever  felt  the  force 
Of  those  inchanting  passions,  to  my  lyre 
Should  throng  attentive,  and  receive  once  more        380 
Their  influence,  unobscured  by  any  cloud 
Of  vulgar  care,  and  purer  than  the  hand 
Of  fortune  can  bestow  :  nor,  to  confirm 
Their  sway,  should  awful  Contemplation  scorn 
To  join  his  dictates  to  the  genuine  strain  385 

Of  Pleasure's  tongue  ;  nor  yet  should  Pleasure's  ear 
Be  much  averse.     Ye  chiefly,  gentle  band 
12 


102      THE -.PJLEA  S  URES   OF   THE 

Of  youths  and  vivgins,  who,  through  many  a  wish 

And  many  a'ibnd  pin  suit,  as  in  some  scene 

Of  magic  bright  and  fleeting,  are  allured  390 

By  various  heauty  ;  if  the  pleasing  toil 

Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 

Your  favourable  ear,  and  trust  my  words. 

I  *  do  not  mean,  on  bless'd  Religion's  seat 

Presenting  Superstition's  gloomy  form,  305 

To  dash  your  soothing  hopes ;  I  do  not  mean 

To  bid  the  jealous  Thunderer  fire  the  heavens, 

Or  shapes  infernal  rend  the  groaning  earth, 

And  scare  you  from  your  joys :— -my  cheerful  song 

With  happier  omens  calls  you  to  the  field  ;  400 

Pleased  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chase, 

And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me  (for  ye  know) 

Doth  f  BEAUTY  ever  deign  to  dwell,  where  USE 

And  APTITUDE  are  strangers  ?  is  her  praise 

Confessed  in  aught  whose  most  peculiar  ends  4Go 

Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?  or  did  Nature  mean 

This  pleasing  call,  the  herald  of  a  lie, 

To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease, 

And  win  each  fond  admirer  into  snares, 

Foil'd,  baffled  ?     No  :  j  with  better  providence          410 

The  general  Mother,  conscious  how  infirm 

Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill, 

Thus  to  the  choice  of  credulous  desire, 

Doth  objects  the  completest  of  their  tribe 

Distinguish  and  commend.     Yon  flowery  bank,       415 

*  Book  I,  line  Ml. 

-f  Venustas,  et  pulchritudo  corporis  sccerni  non  potest  a  valetudine. 

CICERO. 
}  Book  I,  line  357, 


I  M  A  G  I  N  AT  I  O  N.        B.  I.  103 

Clothed  in  the  soft  magnificence  of  Spring, 

Will  not  the  flocks  approve  it?  will  they  ask 

The  reedy  fen  for  pasture  ?     That  clear  rill, 

Which  trickleth  murmuring  from  the  mossy  rock, 

Yields  it  less  wholesome  beverage  to  the  worn          420 

And  thirsty  traveller,  than  the  standing  pool 

With  muddy  weeds  overgrown  ?     Yon  ragged  vine, 

Whose  lean  and  sullen  clusters  mourn  the  rage 

Of  Eurus,  will  the  wine-press  or  the  bowl 

Report  of  her,  as  of  the  swelling  grape  425 

Which  glitters  through  the  tendrils,  like  a  gem 

When  first  it  meets  the  sun  ?     Or  what  are  all 

The  various  charms,  to  life  and  sense  adjoined  ? 

Are  they  not  pledges  of  a  state  entire, 

Where  native  ORDER  reigns,  with  every  part  430 

In  health,  and  every  function  well  performed  ? 

Thus  t  then  at  first  was  BEAUTY  sent  from  heaven, 
The  lovely  ministress  of  TRUTH  and  GOOD 
In  this  dark  world  ;  for  TRUTH  and  GOOD  are  one, 
And  BEAUTY  dwells  in  them  and  they  in  her  435 

With  like  participation.     Wherefore  then, 
O  sons  of  earth !  would  ye  dissolve  the  tie  ? 
O  !  wherefore,  with  a  rash  and  greedy  aim, 
Seek  ye  to  rove  through  every  flattering  scene 
Which  BEAUTY  seems  to  deck,  nor  once  inquire         440 
Where  is  the  suffrage  of  eternal  TRUTH, 
Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  GOOD, 
To  save  your  search  frem  folly  ?    Wanting  these, 
Lo  !  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace, 
And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy  445 

Did  Fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  yet  let  Hope, 

t  Bak  I,  line  372, 


lOi         THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

That  kindliest  inmate  of  the  youthful  breast, 

Be  hence  appall'd ;  be  turned  to  coward  Sloth, 

Sitting  in  silence,  with  dejected  eyes, 

Incurious,  and  with  folded  hands  :  far  less  450 

Let  scorn  of  wild  fantastic  Folly's  dreams, 

Or  hatred  of  the  bigot's  savage  pride, 

Persuade  you  e'er  that  BEAUTY,  or  the  love 

Which  waits  on  BEAUTY,  may  not  brook  to  hear 

The  sacred  lore  of  undeceitful  GOOD  455 

And  TRUTH  eternal.  *     From  the  vulgar  crowd 

Though  SUPERSTITION,  tyranness  abhorr'd  ! 

The  reverence  due  to  this  majestic  pair 

With  threats  and  execration  still  demands  ; 

Though  the  tame  wretch,  who  asks  of  HER  the  way  460 

To  their  celestial  dwelling,  she  constrains 

To  quench  or  set  at  nought  the  LAMP  OF  GOD 

Within  his  frame ;  through  many  a  cheerless  wild 

Though  forth  she  leads  him,  credulous  and  dark,, 

And  awed  with  dubious  notion ;  though  at  length    465 

Haply  she  plunge  him  into  cloister'd  cells, 

And  mansions  unrelenting  as  the  grave, 

But  void  of  quiet ;— there  to  watch  the  hours 

Of  midnight ; — there,  amid  the  screaming  owl's 

Dire  song,  with  spectres  or  with  guilty  shades,         470 

To  talk  of  pangs  and  everlasting  woe  ; 

Yet  be  not  ye  dismay'd ;  f  a  gentler  star 

Presides  o'er  your  adventure.     From  the  bower 

Where  Wisdom  sat  with  her  Athenian  sons, 

Could  but  my  happy  hand  intwine  a  wreath  475 

Of  PLATO'S  OLIVE  with  the  Mantuan  BAY, 

Then  (for  what  need  of  cruel  fear  to  you, 

*  Book  I,  line  391  f  Boot  I,  line  401, 


IMAGINATION.        B.I.  102 

To  you  whom  godlike  love  can  well  command  ?) 

Then  should  my  powerful  voice  at  once  dispel 

Those  monkish  horrors ;  should  in  words  divine       480 

Jlelate  how  favoured  minds,  like  you  inspired, 

And  taught  their  inspiration  to  conduct 

By  ruling-heaven's  decree,  through  various  walks, 

And  prospects  various,  but  delightful  all, 

Move  onward ;  while  now  myrtle  groves  appear,      485 

Now  arms  and  radiant  trophies,  now  the  rods 

Of  empire  with  the  curule  throne,  or  now 

The  domes  of  Contemplation  and  the  Muse. 

Led  by  that  hope  sublime,  whose  cloudless  eye 

Through  the  fair  toils  and  ornaments  of  earth          490 

Discerns  the  nobler  life  reserved  for  heaven, 

Favor'd  alike  they  worship  round  the  shrine 

Where  TRUTH  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins, 

The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway, 

With  GOOD  and  BEAUTY  reigns,  *  O  !  let  not  us,     49£ 

By  Pleasure's  lying  blandishments  detained, 

Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot- rage, 

O !  let  not  us  one  moment  pause  to  join 

That  chosen  band.    And  if  the  gracious  power, 

Who  first  awakened  my  untufeor'd  song,  500 

Will  to  my  invocation  grant  anew 

The  tuneful  spirit,  then  through  all  our  paths 

Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre 

Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead 

When  summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart     505 

Of  Luxury's  allurement ;  whether  firm 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 

TO  urge  free  Virtue's  steps,  and  to  her  side 

*  Book  I,  line   417. 


10(3         THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Summon  that  strong  divinity  of  soul 

Which  conquers  Chance  and  Fate ;  or  on  the  height, 

The  goal  assigned  her,  haply  to  proclaim  5 1 1 

Her  triumph ;  on  her  brow  to  place  the  crown 

Of  uncorrupted  praise ;  through  future  worlds 

To  follow  her  interminated  way, 

And  bless  Heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man.         515 

Such  *  is  the  worth  of  BEAUTY  :  such  her  power, 
So  blameless,  so  revered.     It  now  remains, 
In  just  gradation  through  the  various  ranks 
Of  being,  to  contemplate  how  her  gifb 
Rise  in  due  measure,  watchful  to  attend  520 

The  steps  of  rising  Nature.     Last  and  least, 
In  colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze, 
Doth  BEAUTY  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  forms 
Of  simplest,  easiest  measure  :  in  the  bounds 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent  525 

To  symmetry  adds  colour  :  thus  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  purple  bed, 
And  painted  shells  along  some  winding  shore 
Catch  with  indented  folds  the  glancing  sun. 
Next  as  we  rise,  appear  the  blooming  tribes  530 

Which  clothe  the  fragrant  earth ;  which  draw  from  her 
Their  own  nutrition ;  which  are  born  and  die  ; 
Yet,  in  their  seed,  immortal  :  such  the  flowers 
With  which  young  Maia  pays  the  village-maids 
That  hail  her  natal  morn;  and  such  the  groves        535 
Which  blithe  Pomona  rears  on  Vaga's  bank, 
To  feed  the  bowl  of  Ariconian  swains 
Who  quaff  beneath  her  branches,  f     Nobler  still 
Is  BEAUTY'S  name ;  where,  to  the  full  consent 

*  Book  I,  Ime  438.        f  LW  T,  I'ne  46-i. 


IMAGINATION.        B.I.  107 

Of  members  and  of  features,  to  the  pride 

Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth;  540 

Life's  holy  flame  with  piercing  sense  is  given, 

While  active  motion  speaks  the  tempered  soul : 

So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno  :  so  the  steed 

With  rival  swiftness  beats  the  dusty  plain,  54$ 

And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 

Salute  their  fellows.     What  sublimer  pomp 

Adorns  the  seat  where  VIRTUE  dwells  on  earth, 

And  TRUTH'S  eternal  day-light  shines  around ; 

What  palm  belongs  to  man's  imperial  front,  550 

And  woman,  powerful  with  becoming  smiles* 

Chief  of  terrestrial  natures ;  need  we  now 

Strive  to  inculcate  ?     t  Thus  hath  BEAUTY  there 

Her  most  conspicuous  praise  to  matter  lent, 

Where  most  conspicuous  through  that  shadowy  veil 

Breaks  forth  the  bright  expression  of  a  mind ;          556 

By  steps  directing  our  enraptured  search 

To  him  the  first  of  minds,  the  chief,  the  sole  ; 

From  whom,  through  this  wide  complicated  world 

Did  all  her  various  lineaments  begin  ;  560 

To  whom  alone,  consenting  and  entire, 

At  once  their  mutual  influence  all  display. 

He,  *  GOD  most  high,  (bear  witness  earth  and  heaven) 

The  liring  fountains  in  himself  contains 

Of  BEAUTEOUS  and  SUBLIME.     With  him  inthroned, 

Ere  dnys  or  years  trod  their  ethereal  way,  566 

In  his  supreme  intelligence  inthroned, 

The  queen  of  Love  holds  her  unclouded  state, 

URANIA.     Thee,  O  FATHER  !  this  extent 

Of  matter  ;  thee,  the  sluggish  earth  and  tract  570 

•  Book  I,  line  431.  f  Book  I,  line  473, 


103          TH£  PLEASURES   OF  THfi 

Of  seas,  the  heavens  and  heavenly  splendors  feel, 

Pervading,  quickening,  moving.     From  the  depth 

Of  thy  great  essence,  forth  didst  thou  conduct 

Eternal  FORM,  and  there,  whete  Chaos  reignM, 

Gavest  her  dominion  to  erect  her  seat, 

And  sanctify  the  mansion.     AH  her  work*  575 

Well-pleased  thou  didst  behold ;  the  gloomy  fires 

Of  storm  or  earthquake,  and  the  purest  light 

Of  summer;  soft  Campania's  new-born  rose, 

And  the  slow  weed  which  pines  on  Russian  hills,     5  SO 

Comely  alike  to  THY  full  vision  stand ; 

To  thy  surrounding  vision,  which  unites 

All  essences  and  powers  of  the  great  world 

In  one  sole  order ;  fair  alike  they  stand, 

As  features  well  consenting,  and  alike  5$5 

Required  by  Nature  ere  she  could  attain 

Her  just  resemblance  to  the  perfect  shape 

Of  universal  BEAUTY,  which  with  THEE 

Dwelt  from  the  first.     Thou  also,  ANCIENT  MIND  ! 

Whom  love  and  free  beneficence  await  590 

In  all  thy  doings ;  to  inferior  minds 

Thy  offspring,  and  to  man  thy  youngest  son, 

Refusing  no  convenient  gift  nor  good, 

Their  eyes  didst  open  in  this  earth,  yon  heaven, 

Those  starry  worlds,  the  countenance  divine  595 

Of  BEAUTY  to  behold  :  but  not  to  them 

Didst  thou  her  awful  magnitude  reveal, 

Such  as  before  thine  own  unbounded  sight 

She  stands,  (for  never  shall  created  soul 

Conceive  that  object)  nor  to  all  their  kinds,  600 

The  same  in  shape  or  features  didst  thou  frame 

Her  image.     Measuring  well  their  different  spheres 


IMAGINATION.  ,     B.  L  109 

Of  sense  and  action,  thy  paternal  hand 
Hath  for  each  race  prepared  a  different  test 
Of  BEAUTY,  own'd  and  reverenced  as  their  guide       605 
Most  apt,  most  faithful.     Thence  inform 'd,  they  scan 
The  objects  that  surround  them ;  and  select, 
Since  the  great  whole  disclaims  their  scanty  view, 
Each  for  himself  selects  peculiar  parts 
Of  Nature ;  what  the  standard  fiVd  by  Heaven         610 
Within  his  breast  approves  :  acquiring  thus 
A  partial  BEAUTY,  which  becomes  his  lot; 
A  BEAUTY  which  his  eye  may  comprehend* 
His  hand  may  copy  :— leaving,  O  SUPREME  ! 
O  THOU  WHOM  NONE  HATH  UTTERED  !  leaving  all         615 
To  THEE,  that  infinite,  consummate  form, 
Which  the  great  powers,  the  gods  around  thy  throne, 
And  nearest  to  thy  counsels,  know  with  THEE 
For  ever  to  have  been ;  but  who  SHE  is, 
Or  what  HER  likeness,  know  not.     Man  surveys        620 
A  narrower  scene,  where,  by  the  mix'd  effect 
Of  things  corporeal  on  his  passive  mind, 
He  judgeth  what  is  fair.     Corporeal  things 
The  mind  of  man  impel  with  various  powers, 
And  various  features  to  his  eye  disclose.  625 

The  powers  which  move  his  sense  with  instant  joy, 
The  features  which  attract  his  heart  to  love, 
He  marks,  combines,  reposits.     Other  powers 
And  features  of  the  self-same  thing  (unless 
The  beauteous  form,  the  creature  of  his  mind,          6.30 
Request  their  close  alliance)  he  overlooks 
Forgotten  >  or  with  self-beguiling  zeal, 
Whene'er  his  passions  mingle  in  the  work, 
Half  alters,  half  disowns.     The  tribes  of  men 
K 


110        THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Thus  from  their  different  functions,  and  the  shapes. 

Familiar  to  their  eye,  with  art  obtain,  636 

Unconscious  of  their  purpose,  yet  with  art 

Obtain  the  Beauty  fitting  man  to  love  : 

Whose  proud  Desires,  from  Nature's  homely  toil 

Oft  turn  away  fastidious;  asking  still  64-0 

The  mind's  high  aid,  to  purify  the  form 

From  matter's  gross  communion ;  to  secure 

For  ever,  from  the  meddling  hand  of  Change 

Or  rude  Decay,  her  features ;  arid  to  add 

Whatever  ornaments  may  suit  her  mien,  645 

Where'er  he  finds  them  scatter'd  through  the  paths 

Of  Nature  or  of  Fortune  : — then  he  seats 

The  accomplish'd  image  deep  within  his  breast, 

Reviews  it,  and  accounts  it  good  and  fair. 

Thus  the  ONE  BEAUTY  of  the  world  entire,  650 

The  universal  Venus,  far  beyond 
The  keenest  effort  of  created  eyes, 
And  their  most  wide  horizon,  dwells  inthroned 
In  ancient  silence  :  at  her  footstool  stands 
An  altar,  burning  with  eternal  fire,  655 

Unsully'd,  unconsumed.     Here  every  hour, 
Here  every  moment,  in  their  turns  arrive 
Her  offspring;  an  innumerable  band 
Of  sisters,  comely  all ;  but  differing  far 
In  age,  in  stature,  and  expressive  mien,  660 

More  than  bright  Helen  from  her  new-born  babe. 
To  this  maternal  shrine  in  turns  they  come, 
Each  with  her  sacred  lamp ;  that  from  the  source 
Of  living  flame,  which  here  immortal  flows, 
Their  portions  of  its  lustre  they  may  draw  665 

For  days,  or  months,  or  years ;  for  ages  some ; 


IMAGINATION    BOOK    I.-          ill 

As  their  great  parent's  discipline  requires  : 

Then  to  their  several  mansions  they  depart, 

In  stars,  in  planets,  through  the  unknown  shores 

Of  yon  ethereal  ocean.     Who  can  tell  670 

Even  on  the  surface  of  this  rolling  earth, 

How  many  make  abode  ?     The  fields,  the  groves, 

The  winding  rivers,  and  the  azure  main, 

Are  rendered  solemn  by  their  frequent  feet, 

Their  rites  sublime.     There,  each  her  destin'd  home 

Informs  with  that  pure  radiance  from  the  skies          676 

Brought  down,   and  shines  throughout  her  little  sphere 

Exulting.     Straight,  as  travellers  by  night 

Turn  towards  a  distant  flame,  so  some  tit  eye, 

Among  the  various  tenants  of  the  scene,  680 

Discerns  the  heaven-born  phantom  seated  there, 

And  owns  her  charms  :  hence  the  wide  universe, 

Through  all  the  seasons  of  revolving  worlds, 

Bears  witness  with  its  people,  gods,  and  men, 

To  BEAUTY'S  blissful  power ;  and  with  the  voice         685 

Of  grateful  admiration  still  resounds  : 

That  voice,  to  which  is  Beauty *s  frame  divine, 

As  is  the  cunning  of  the  master's  hand 

To  the  sweet  accent  of  the  well-tuned  lyre. 

GENIUS  *  OF  ANCIENT  GREECE  !  whose  faithful  steps 
Have  led  us  to  these  awful  solitudes  691 

Of  Nature  and  of  Science ;  Nurse  revered 
Of  generous  counsels  and  heroic  deeds ! 
O  let  some  portion  of  thy  matchless  praise 
Dwell  in  my  breast,  and  teach  me  to  adorn  695 

This  unattempted  theme  !  Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if,  amid  the  calm 
Which  Hesper  sheds  along  the  vernal  heaven, 
*  Book  I,  line  507. 


112         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

If  I,  from  vulgar  Superstition's  walk 
Impatient  steal,  and  from  the  unseemly  rites  7  GO 

Of  splendid  Adulation,  to  attend 
With  hymns  thy  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade, 
By  their  malignant  footsteps  unprofaned. 
Come,  O  renowned  Power !  thy  glowing  mien 
Such,  and  so  elevated  all  thy  form,  70S 

As  when  the  great  harbaric  lord,  again 
And  yet  again  diminished,  hid  his  face 
Among  the  herd  of  satraps  and  of  kings ; 
And  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear, 
Crouch'd  like  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  SPOILS, 
Thy  PALMS,  thy  LAURELS,  thy  triumphal  SONGS,        7 1 1 
Thy  smiling  band  of  ARTS,  thy  godlike  SIRES 
Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  unconquer'd  YOUTH, 
After  sonoe  glorious  day,  rejoicing  round 
Their  new-elected  trophy.     *  Guide  my  feet  715 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  walk,  the  olive  shades 
Of  Academus,  and  the  sacred  vale 
Haunted  by  steps  divine,  \\here  once,  beneath 
That  ever-living  plantane's  ample  boughs,  720 

Ilissus,  by  SOCRATIC  sounds  detained, 
On  his  neglected  urn  attentive  lay  ; 
While  Boreas,  lingering  on  the  neighbouring  steep, 
With  beauteous  Orithyia,  his  love-tale 
In  silent  awe  suspended  :  there  let  me 
With  blameless  hand,  from  thy  unenvious  fields,      725 
Transplant  some  living  blossoms,  to  adorn 
My  native  clime  :  while,  far  beyond  the  meed 
Of  Fancy's  toil  aspiring,  I  unlock 
The  springs  of  ancient  wisdom  :  while  I  add 
(What  cannot  be  disjoined  from  BEAUTY'S  praise)      730 
*  Book  !,  line  590. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  L          113 

THY  name  and  native  dress ;  thy  works  beloved 

And  honoured  :  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 

I  point  the  great  example  of  thy  sons, 

And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre.  734 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  FIRST. 


K2 


ARGUMENT 


THE    SECOND    BOOK, 


Introduction  to  this  more  difficult  part  of  the  subject.  Of  truth  and 
its  three  classes,  matter  of  fact,  experimental  or  scientifical  truth, 
(contra-distinguished  from  opinion)  and  universal  truth :  which 
last  is  either  metaphysical  or  geometrical,  either  purely  intellect- 
ual or  perfectly  abstracted.  On  the  power  of  discerning  truth 
depends  that  of  acting  with  the  view  of  an  end  ;  a  circumstance 
essential  to  virtue.  Of  virtue,  considered  in  the  divine  mind  as 
a  perpetual  and  universal  beneficence.  Of  human  virtue,  con- 
sidered as  a  system  of  particular  sentiments  and  actions,  suitable 
to  the  design  of  providence  and  the  condition  of  man;  to  whom 
it  constitutes  the  chief  good  arid  the  first  beauty.  Of  vice  and 
its  origin.  Of  ridicule;  its  general  nature  and  final  cause.  Of 
the  passions ;  particularly  of  those  which  relate  to  evil,  natural 
or  moral,  and  which  are  generally  accounted  painful,  though  not 
always  unattended  with  pleasure. 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION: 

BOOK    THE    SECOND, 
MDCCLXV. 

fJTHUS  far  of  BEAUTY  and  the  pleasing  Forms 

Which  man's  untutor'd  fancy,  from  the  scenes 

Imperfect  of  this  ever-changing  world, 

Creates ;  and  views,  enaraour'd.     Now  my  song 

Severer  themes  demand  :  mysterious  TRUTH  ;  5 

And  VIRTUE,  sovran  good ;  the  spells,  the  trains, 

The  progeny  of  ERROR  ;  the  dread  sway 

Of  PASSION  ;  and  whatever  hidden  stores 

From  her  own  lofty  deeds  and  from  herself 

The  mind  acquires.     Severer  argument :  10 

Not  less  attractive  ;  nor  deserving  less 

A  constant  ear.     *  For  what  are  all  the  forms 

Educed  by  fancy  from  corporeal  things, 

Greatness,  or  pomp,  or  symmetry  of  parts  ? 

Not  tending  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows,  1  j 

As  the  blunt  arrow  'gainst  the  knotty  trunk, 

Their  impulse  on  the  sense;  while  the  pall'd  eye 

Expects  in  vain  its  tribute ;  asks  in  vain, 

*  Book  I,  line  526, 


116          THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Where  are  the  ornaments  it  once  admired  ? 

Not  *  so  the  MORAL  species,  nor  the  powers  20 

Of  PASSION  and  of  THOUGHT.     The  ambitious  mind 

With  objects  boundless  as  her  own  desires 

Can  there  converse  :  by  these  unfading  forms 

Touched  and  awaken'd,  still  with  eager  act 

She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well-pleased      25 

Her  gifts,  her  godlike  fortune.     Such  the  scenes 

Now  opening  round  us.     May  the  destined  verse 

Maintain  its  equal  tenor,  though  in  tracts 

Obscure  and  arduous.     May  the  SOURCE  of  LIGHT 

All-present,  all-sufficient,  guide  our  steps  30 

Through  every  maze  :  and  whom  in  childish  years 

From  the  loud  throng,  the  beaten  paths  of  wealth 

And  power,  thou  did'st  apart  send  forth  to  speak 

In  tuneful  words  concerning  highest  things ; 

Him  still  do  thou,  O  FATHER,  at  those  hours  35 

Of  pensive  freedom,  when  the  human  soul 

Shuts  out  the  rumour  of  the  world,  him  still 

Touch  thou  with  secret  lessons ;  call  thou  back 

Each  erring  thought ;  and  let  the  yielding  strains 

From  his  full  bosom,  like  a  welcome  rill,  4O 

Spontaneous  from  its  healthy  fountain,  flow. 

But  from  what  name,  what  favourable  sign, 
What  heavenly  auspice,  rather  shall  I  date 
My  perilous  excursion,  than  from  TRUTH, 
That  nearest  inmate  of  the  human  soul  ?  45 

Estranged  from  whom,  the  countenance  divine 
Of  man,  disfigured  and  dishonoured,  sinks 
Amon^  inferior  things  :— for  to  the  brutes 
Perception,  and  the  transient  boons  of  sense 
*  Book  I,  line  532. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  117 

Hath  Fate  imparted  :  but  to  man  alone  5O 

Of  sublunary  beings  was  it  given 

Each  fleeting  impulse  on  the  sensual  powers 

At  leisure  to  review ;  with  equal  eye 

To  scan  the  passion  of  the  stricken  nerve 

Or  the  vague  object  striking  :  to  conduct  55 

From  sense,  the  portal  turbulent  and  loud, 

Into  the  Mind's  wide  palace  one  by  one, 

The  frequent,  pressing,  fluctuating  forms  ; 

And  question  and  compare  them.     Thus  he  learns 

Their  birth  and  fortunes  ;  how  allied  they  haunt        60 

The  avenues  of  sense ;  what  laws  direct 

Their  union ;  and  what  various  discords  rise, 

Or  fix'd  or  casual  :  which  when  his  clear  thought 

Retains,  and  when  his  faithful  words  express, 

That  living  image  of  the  external  scene,  65 

As  in  a  polished  mirror  held  to  view, 

Is  TRUTH  :  where'er  it  varies  from  the  shape 

And  hue  of  its  exemplar,  in  that  part 

Dim  ERROR  lurks.     Moreover,,  from  without 

When  oft  the  same  society  of  forms  70 

In  the  same  order  have  approached  his  mind, 

He  deigns  no  more  their  steps  with  curious  heed 

To  trace  ;  no  more  their  features  or  their  garb 

He  now  examines;  but  of  them  and  their 

Condition,  as  with  some  diviner's  tongue,  75 

Affirms  what  Heaven  in  every  distant  place, 

Through  every  future  season,  will  decree; 

This  too  is  TRUTH  :  where'er  his  prudent  lips 

Wait  till  EXPERIENCE,  diligent  and  slow, 

Has  authorized  their  sentence,  this  is  TRUTH  ;  80 

A  second,  higher  kind  :  the  parent  this 


118         THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Of  SCIENCE;  or  the  lofty  power  herself, 

SCIENCE  herself;  on  whom  the  wants  and  cares 

Of  social  life  depend;  the  substitute 

Of  GOD'S  own  wisdom  in  this  toilsome  world  ;  85 

The  providence  of  man.     Yet  oft  in  vain 

To  earn  her  aid,  with  fix'd  and  anxious  eye 

He  looks  on  Nature's  and  on  Fortune's  course  : 

Too  much  in  vain  :  his  duller  visual  ray 

The  stillness  and  the  persevering  acts  90 

Of  Nature  oft  elude ;  and  Fortune  oft 

With  step  fantastic  from  her  wonted  walk 

Turns  into  mazes  dim  :  his  sight  is  foil'd, 

And  the  crude  sentence  of  his  faltering  tongue, 

Is  but  OPINION'S  verdict ;  half  believed,  95 

And  prone  to  change.    Here  thou,  who  feel'st  thine  ear 

Congenial  to  my  lyre's  profounder  tone, 

Pause  and  be  watchful.     Hitherto  the  stores, 

Which  feed  thy  mind  and  exercise  her  powers, 

Partake  the  relish  of  their  native  soil.,  100 

Their  parent  earth  :  but  know  a  nobler  dower 

Her  SIRE  at  birth  decreed  her ;  purer  gifts 

From  his  own  treasure ;  forms  which  never  deigned 

In  eyes  or  ears  to  dwell ;  within  the  sense 

Of  earthly  organs;  but  sublime  were  placed  105 

In  his  essential  reason ;  leading  there 

That  vast  ideal  host,  which  all  his  works 

Through  endless  ages  never  will  reveal. 

Thus  then  endow 'd,  the  feeble  creature  MAN, 

The  slave  of  hunger  and  the  prey  of  death,  1 10 

Even  now,  even  here,  in  earth's  dim  prison  bound, 

The  language  of  INTELLIGENCE  DIVINE 

Attains ;  repeating  oft,  concerning  one 


IMAGINATION,        B.  II.          119 

And  many,  past  and  present,  parts  and  whole, 

Those  sovran  dictates,  which  in  farthest  heaven,        1 15 

Where  no  orb  rolls,  Eternity's  fix'd  ear 

Hears  from  coeval  TRUTH,  when  Chance  nor  Change, 

Nature's  loud  progeny,  nor  Nature's  self 

Dares  intermeddle,  or  approach  her  throne. 

Ere  long  o'er  this  corporeal  world  he  teams  120 

To  extend  her  sway  ;  while  calling  from  the  deep, 

From  earth  and  air,  their  multitudes  untold 

Of  figures  and  of  motions  round  his  walk; 

For  each  wide  family  some  single  birth 

He  sets  in  view,  the  impartial  type  of  all  1 25 

Its  brcthern  :  suffering  it  to  claim,  beyond 

Their  common  heritage,  no  private  gift, 

No  proper  fortune.     Then  whatever  his  eye 

In  this  discerns,  his  bold  unerring  tongue 

Pronouncetli  of  the  kindred,  without  bound,  130 

Without  condition.     Such  the  rise  of  forms 

Sequester'd  far  from  sense,  and  every  spot 

Peculiar  in  the  realms  of  space  or  time  : 

Such  is  the  throne  which  man  for  TRUTH,  amid 

The  paths  of  mutability  hath  built,  135 

Secure,  unshaken,  still ;  and  whence  he  views, 

In  matter's  mouldering  structures,  the  pure  forms 

Of  triangle  or  circle,  cube  or  cone, 

Impassive  all ;  whose  attributes  nor  Force 

Nor  Fate  can  alter  :  there  he  first  conceives  140 

True  being,  and  an  intellectual  world, 

The  same  this  hour  and  ever  :  thence  HE  DEEMS 

OF  HIS  OWN  LOT  :— above  the  painted  shapes 

That  fleeting  move  o'er  this  terrestrial  scene 

Looks  up;  beyond  the  adamantine  gates  145 


120          THE  PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Of  death  expatiates ;  as  his  birthright  claims 
Inheritance  in  all  the  works  of  GOD  ; 
Prepares  for  endless  time  his  plan  of  life, 
And  counts  the  universe  itself  his  home. 

Whence  also  but  from  TRUTH,  the  light  of  minds, 
Is  human  fortune  gladden'd  with  the  rays  151 

Of  VIRTUE  ?  with  the  moral  colours,  thrown 
On  every  walk  of  this  our  social  scene  ; 
Adorning  for  the  eyes  of  gods  and  men 
The  PASSIONS,  ACTIONS,  HABITUDES  of  life,  153 

And  rendering  earth  like  heaven,  a  sacred  place, 
Where  LOVE  and  PRAISE  may  take  delight  to  dwell  ? 
Let  none  with  heedless  tongue  from  TRUTH  disjoin 
The  reign  of  VIRTUE  :-— ere  the  day-spring  flow'd, 
Like  sisters  link'd  in  Concord's  golden  chain,  160 

They  stood  before  the  great  ETERNAL  MIND, 
Their  common  parent ;  and  by  him  were  both 
Sent  forth  among  his  creatures,  hand  in  hand, 
Inseparably  joined  :  nor  e'er  did  TRUTH 
Find  an  apt  ear  to  listen  to  her  lore,  165 

Which  knew  not  VIRTUE'S  voice;  nor,  save  where  TRUTH'S 
Majestic  words  are  heard  and  understood, 
Doth  VIRTUE  deign  to  inhabit.     Go,  inquire 
Of  Nature  ;  not  among  Tartarian  rocks, 
Whither  the  hungry  vulture  with  its  prey  170 

Returns  :  not  where  the  lion's  sullen  roar 
At  noon  resounds  along  the  lonely  banks 
Of  ancient  Tigris  :  but  her  gentler  scenes, 
The  dove-cote  and  the  shepherd's  fold  at  morn, 
Consult;  or  by  the  meadow's  fragrant  hedge,  175 

In  spring-time  when  the  woodlands  first  are  green, 
Attend  the  linnet  singing  to  his  mate, 


IMAGINATION.         13.  II.  121 

o'er  their  tender  young.     To  this  fond  care 
Thou  dost  not  VIRTUE'S  honourable  name 
Attribute  ;  wherefore,  save  that  not  one  gleam          180 
Of  TRUTH  did  e'er  discover  to  themselves 
Their  little  hearts,  or  teach  them  by  the  effects 
Of  that  parental  love,  the  love  itself 
To  judge,  and  measure  its  officious  deeds  ? 
But  man,  whose  eyelids  TRUTH  has  Jill' d  with  day,      185 
Discerns  how  skilfully  to  bounteous  ends 
His  wise  affections  move ;  with  free  accord 
Adopts  their  guidance  ;  yields  himself  secure 
To  Nature's  prudent  impulse  ;  and  converts 
Instinct  to  duty  and  to  sacred  law.  1  DO 

Hence  RIGHT  and  FIT  on  earth  :  while  thus  to  man 
The  ALMIGHTY  LEGISLATOR  hath  explained 
The  springs  of  action  fix'd  within  his  breast ; 
Hath  given  him  power  to  slacken,  or  restrain 
Their  effort ;  and  hath  shewn  him  how  they  join      195 
Their  partial  movements  with  the  master-wheel 
Of  the  great  world,  and  serve  that  sacred  end 
Which  he,  the  Unerring  Reason,  keeps  in  view. 

For  (if  a  mortal  tongue  may  speak  of  him 
And  his  dread  ways)  even  as  his  boundless  eye,        200 
Connecting  every  form  and  every  change, 
Beholds  the  perfect  BEAUTY  ;  so  his  WILL, 
Through  every  hour  producing  good  to  all 
The  family  of  creatures,  is  itself 

The  perfect  VIRTUE.     Let  the  grateful  swain  205 

Remember  this,  as  oft  \vith  joy  arid  praise 
He  looks  upon  the  falling  dews  which  clothe 
His  lawns  with  verdure,  and  the  tender  seed 
Nourish  within  his  furrows  :  when  between 
L 


122          THE   PLEASURES   OF  THE 

Dead  seas  and  burning  skies,  where  long  unmoved  210 

The  bark  had  languished,  now  a  rustling  gale 

Lifts  o'er  the  fickle  waves  her  dancing  prow  ; 

Let  the  glad  pilot,  bursting  out  in  thanks, 

He  member  this  :  lest  blind  o'erweening  pride 

Pollute  their  offerings  :  lest  their  selfish  heart          215 

Say  to  the  heavenly  RULER,  "  At  our  call 

"  Relents  thy  power ;  by  us  thy  arm  is  moved." 

Fools  !  wlio  of  GOD  as  of  each  other  deem  : 

And  HIS  invariable  acts  deduce 

From  sudden  counsels,  transient  as  their  own ;          220 

Nor  farther  of  his  bounty,  than  the  etent, 

Which  haply  meets  their  loud  and  eager  prayer, 

Acknowledge  ;  nor  beyond  the  drop  minute, 

Which  haply  they  have  tasted,  heed  the  source 

That  flows  for  all;  the  fountain  of  his  love,  225 

Which,  from  the  summit  where  he  sits  inthroned, 

Pours  health  and  joy,  unfailing  streams,  throughout 

The  spacious  region  flourishing  in  view, 

The  goodly  work  of  his  eternal  clay, 

His  own  fair  universe  ;  on  which  alone  230 

His  counsels  fix,  and  whence  alone  his  will 

Assume?,  her  strong  direction.     Such  is  NOW 

His  sovran  purpose;  such  it  WAS  before 

All  multitude  of  years  :  for  his  right  arm 

Was  never  idle  ;  his  bestowing  love  235 

Knew  no  beginning ;  was  not  as  a  change 

Of  mood  that  woke  at  last,  and  started  up, 

After  a  deep  and  solitary  sloth 

Of  boundless  ages.    No  :  he  NOW  is  good  ; 

He  EVER  WAS.     The  feet  of  hoary  TIME  240 

Through  their  eternal  course  have  traveled  o'er 


IMAGINATION.        B.IT.  123 

No  speechless,  lifeless  desert ;  but  through  scenes 

Cheerful  with  hounty  still;  nmong  a  pomp 

Of  worlds,  for  gladness  round  the  Maker's  throne 

Loud  shouting ;  or,  in  many  dialects  24-5 

Of  hope  and  filial  trust,  imploring  thence 

The  fortunes  of  their  people  :  where  so  *  fix'd 

Were  all  the  dates  of  being,  so  disposed 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind 

The  field  of  motion,  and  the  hour  of  rest,  250 

That  each  the  general  happiness  might  serve ; 

And  by  the  discipline  of  laws  divine, 

Convinced  of  folly,  or  chastised  from  guilt, 

Each  might  at  length  be  happy.     What  remains 

Shall  be  like  what  is  past,  but  fairer  still,  255 

And  still  increasing  in  the  godlike  gifts 

Of  Life  and  Truth.     The  same  f  paternal  hand, 

From  the  mute  shellfish  gasping  on  the  shore, 

To  men,  to  angels,  to  celestial  minds, 

Will  ever  lead  the  generations  on  260 

Through  higher  scenes  of  being  :  while,  supply'd 

From  day  to  day  by  his  enlivening  breath, 

Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 

To  fill  the  void  below.    As  flame  ascends, 

As  vapours  to  the  earth  in  showers  return,  265 

As  the  poised  ocean  toward  the  attracting  moon 

Swells,  and  the  ever-listening  planets,  charm'd 

By  the  sun's  call,  their  onward  pace  incline ; 

So  j  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  GOD  ; 

Exhaustless  fount  of  intellectual  day,  270 

CENTRE  of  SOULS  !   Nor  doth  the  mastering  voice 

Of  Nature  cease  within  to  prompt  aright 

*  Book  IT,  hue  329     f  Pock  II,  line  343.     J  Book  II,  line  355. 


124.      THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Their  steps ;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 
From  sending  to  the  toil  external  aid ; 
That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere 
To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 
For  ever  nearer  to  the  LIFE  DIVINE, 

But  this  ETERNAL  FABRIC  was  not  raised 
For  man's  inspection.     Though  to  some  be  given 
To  catch  a  transient  visionary  glimpse 
Of  that  majestic  scene  which  boundless  power 
Prepares  for  perfect  goodness,  yet  in  vain 
Would  human  life  her  faculties  expand 
To  imbosom  such  an  object.     Nor  could  e'er 
Virtue  or  praise  have  touched  the  hearts  of  men,       285 
Had  riot  the  SOVRAN  GUIDE,  through  every  stage 
Of  this  their  various  journey,  pointed  out 
New  hopes,  new  toils,  which  to  their  humble  sphere 
Of  sight  and  strength  might  such  importance  hold 
As  doth  the  wide  creation  to  his  own.  290 

Hence  all  the  little  charities  of  life, 
With  all  their  duties  :  hence  that  favourite  palm 
Of  human  will,  when  duty  is  sufficed, 
And  still  the  liberal  soul  in  ampler  deeds 
Would  manifest  herself;  that  sacred  sign  293 

Of  her  revered  affinity  to  him 
Whose  bounties  are  his  own  ;  to  whom  none  said, 
"  Create  the  wisest,  fullest,  fairest  world, 
"  And  make  its  offspring  happy  ;"  who,  intent 
Some  likeness  of  himself  among  his  works  300 

To  view,  hath  pour'cl  into  the  human  breast 
A  ray  of  knowledge  and  of  love,  which  guides 
Earth's  feeble  race  to  act  their  maker's  part, 
SELF-JUDGING,  SELF-OBLIGED  :  while,  from  before 


IMAGINATION,        B.  II.          125 

That  godlike  function,  the  gigantic  power  305 

NECESSITY,  though  wont  to  curb  the  force 
Of  Chaos  and  the  savage  elements, 
Retires  abash'd,  as  from  a  scene  too  high 
For  her  brute  tyranny,  and  with  her  bears 
Her  scorned  followers,  TERROR,  and  BASE  AWE  310 

Who  blinds  herself,  and  that  ill-suited  pair, 
OBEDIENCE  link'd  with  HATRED.     Then  the  soul 
Arises  in  her  strength  ;  and,  looking  round 
Her  busy  sphere,  whatever  work  she  views, 
Whatever  counsel  bearing  any  trace  3 1 5 

Of  her  creator's  likeness,  whether  apt 
To  aid  her  fellows  or  preserve  herself 
In  her  superior  functions  unimpaired, 
Thither  she  turns  exulting  :  that  she  claims 
As  her  peculiar  good  :  on  that,  through  all  320 

The  fickle  seasons  of  the  day,  she  looks 
With  reverence  still :  to  that  as  to  a  fence 
Against  affliction  and  the  darts  of  pain, 
Her  drooping  hopes  repair  :  and,  once  opposed 
To  that,  all  other  pleasure,  other  wealth,  325 

Vile  as  the  dross  upon  the  molten  gold 
Appears,  and  loathsome  as  the  briny  sea 
To  him  who  languishes  with  thirst,  and  sighs 
For  some  known  fountain  pure.     For  what  can  strive 
With  VIRTUE  ?  Which  of  nature's  regions  vast          330 
Can  in  so  many  forms  produce  to  sight 
Such  powerful  BEAUTY  ?  BEAUTY,  which  the  eye 
Of  HATRED  cannot  look  upon  secure  : 
Which  ENVY'S  self  contemplates,  and  is  turned 
Ere  long  to  tenderness,  to  infant  smiles,  335 

Or  tears  of  humblest  love.     *  Is  aught  so  fair 
*  Book  I,  line  500.  L  2 


126          THE  PLEASURES   OF  THE 

In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring, 
The  summer's  noontide  groves,  the  purple  eve 
At  harvest-home,  or  in  the  frosty  moon 
Glittering  on  some  smooth  sea,  is  aught  so  fair         34-0 
As  VIRTUOUS  FRIENDSHIP  ?  as  the  honoured  roof 
Whither  from  highest  heaven  immortal  LOVE 
His  torch  ethereal  and  his  golden  bow 
Propitious  brings,  and  there  a  temple  holds 
To  whose  unspotted  service  gladly  vowM  345 

The  social  band  of  PARENT,  BROTHER,  CHILD, 
With  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  and  gentle  deeds 
Adore  his  power  ?    What  gift  of  richest  clime 
E'er  drew  such  eager  eyes,  or  prompted  such 
Deep  wishes,  as  the  zeal  that  snatcheth  back  3oO 

Prom  SLANDER'S  poisonous  tooth  a  FOE'S  renown  ; 
Or  crosseth  danger  in  his  lion  walk, 
A  RIVAL'S  life  to  rescue  ?  as  the  young 
Athenian  warrior  sitting  down  in  bonds, 
That  his  great  father's  body  might  not  want  355 

A  peaceful,  humble  tomb  ?  the  Roman  wife 
Teaching  her  lord  how  harmless  was  the  wound 
Of  death,  how  impotent  the  tyrant's  rage, 
Who  nothing  more  could  threaten  to  afflict 
Their  faithful  love  ?    Or  is  there  in  the  abyss,  360 

Is  *  there,  among  the  adamantine  spheres 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  boundless  void, 
Aught  that  with  half  such  majesty  can  fill 
The  human  bosom,  as  when  BRUTUS  rose 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  CAESAR'S  fate  365 

Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots  ;  and,  his  arm 
Aloft  extending  like  eternal  JOVE 
*  Book  I,  line  488. 


IMAGINATION.         B.,-11.          127 

When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  callM  aloud 
On  TULLY'S  name,,  and  shook  the  crimson  sword 
Of  justice  in  his  rapt  astonished  eye,  370 

And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail, 
For  lo  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust, 
And  ROME  AGAIN  is  FREE  ?    Thus,  through  the  paths 
Of  human  life,  in-  various  pomp  array  \1 
Walks  the  wise  daughter  of  the  judge  of  heaven,       375 
Fair  VIRTUE  ;  from  her  father's  throne  supreme 
Sent  down  to  utter  laws,  such  as  on  earth 
Most  apt  he  knew,  most  powerful  to  promote 
The  weal  of  all  his  works,  the  gracious  end 
Of  his  dread  empire.     And  though  haply,  man's     380 
Obscurer  sight,  so  far  beyond  himself 
And  the  brief  labours  of  his  little  home, 
Extends  not ;  yet,  by  the  bright  presence  won 
Of  this  divine  instructress,  to  her  sway 
Pleased  he  assents,  nor  heeds  the  distant  goal  385 

To  which  her  voice  conducts  him.     Thus  hath  GOD, 
Still  looking  toward  his  own  high  purpose,  fixM 
The  virtues  of  his  creatures  ;  thus  he  rules 
The  parent's  fondness  and  the  patriot's  zeal ; 
Thus  the  warm  sense  of  honour  and  of  shame ;         390 
The  vows  of  gratitude,  the  faith  of  love ; 
And  all  the  comely  intercourse  of  praise, 
The  joy  of  human  life,  the  earthly  heaven. 

How  far  unlike  them  must  the  lot  of  guilt 
Be  found  !    Or  what  terrestrial  woe  can  match         305 
The  SELF-CONVICTED  BOSOM,  which  hath  wrought 
The  bane  of  others  or  inslaved  itself 
With  shackles  vile  ?  Not  poison,  nor  sharp  fire, 
Nor  the  worst  pangs  that  ever  monkish  hate 


128         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Suggested,  or  despotic  rage  imposed,  400 

Were  at  tliat  season  an  unwish'd  exchange  ; 
When  the  soul  loaths  herself:  when,  flying  thence 
To  crowds,  on  every  brow  she  sees  portray  M 
Tell  demons,  hate  or  scorn,  which  drive  her  back 
Ta  solitude,  her  judge's  VOICE  DIVINE  405 

To  hear  in  secret,  haply  sounding  through 
The  troubled  dreams  of  midnight,  and  still,  still 
Demanding  for  his  VIOLATED  LAWS 
Fit  recompence,  or  charging  her  own  tongue 
To  speak  the  award  of  justice  on  herself.  410 

For  well  she  knows  what  faithful  hints  within 
Were  whisper'd,  to  beware  the  lying  forms 
Which  turned  her  footsteps  from  the  safer  way  : 
What  cautions  to  suspect  their  painted  dress, 
And  look  with  steady  eyelid  on  their  smiles,  415 

Their  frowns,  their  tears.     In  vain  :  the  dazzling  hues 
Of  FANCY,  and  OPINION'S  eager  voice, 
Too  much  prevailed.     *  For  mortals  tread  the  path 
In  which  OPINION  says  they  follow  good 
Or  fly  from  evil :  and  OPINION  gives  420 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 
Was  drawn  by  FANCY,  pleasing  or  deformM  : 
Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 
Where  FANCY  cheats  the  intellectual  eye 
With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines.  425 

Is  there  a  t  man  to  whom  the  name  of  death 
Brings  terror's  ghastly  pageants  conjured  up 
Before  him,  death-bed  groans,  and  dismal  vows, 
And  the  frail  soul  plunged  headlong  from  the  brink 
Of  life  and  daylight  down  the  gloomy  air,  430 

*  Book  III,  line  23.        |  Book  III,  li*ie  31. 


IMAGINATION.        B.  IL  129 

An  unknown  depth,  to  gulphs  of  torturing  fire 
Unvisited  by  mercy  ?    Then  what  hand 
Can  snatch  this  dreamer  from  the  fatal  toils 
Which  FANCY  and  OPINION  thus  conspire 
To  twine  around  his  .heart  ?  or  who  shall  hush         435 
Their  clamor,  when  they  tell  him  that  to  die, 
To  risk  those  horrors,  *  is  a  direr  curse 
Than  basest  life  can  bring  ?  Though  Love  with  prayers 
Most  tender,  with  affliction's  sacred  tears, 
Beseech  his  aid ;  though  gratitude  and  faith  44-0 

Condemn  each  step  which  loiters ;  yet  let  none 
Make  answer  for  him  that,  if  any  frown 
Of  DANGER  thwart  his  path,  he  will  not  stay 
Content,  and  be  a  wretch  to  be  secure. 
Here  VICE  begins  then  :  at  the  gate  of  life,  44-5 

Ere  the  young  multitude  to  diverse  roads 
Part,  like  fond  pilgrims  on  a  journey  unknown, 
Sits  FANCY,  deep  inchantress ;  and  to  each 
With  kind  maternal  looks  presents  her  bowl, 
A  potent  beverage.     Heedless  they  comply  :  450 

Till  the  whole  soul  from  that  mysterious  draught 
Is  tinged,  and  every  transient  thought  imbibes 
Of  gladness  or  disgust,  desire  or  fear, 
One  home-bred  colour  :  which  not  all  the  lights 
Of  SCIENCE  e'er  shall  change;  not  all  the  storms      45,5 
Of  ADVERSE  FORTUNE  wash  away,  nor  yet 
The  robe  of  PUREST  VIRTUE  quite  conceal. 
Thence  on  they  pass,  where  meeting  frequent  shapes 
Of  good  and  evil,  .cunning  phantoms  apt 
To  fire  or  freeze  the  breast,  with  them  they  join       460 
In  dangerous  parley ;  listening  oft,  and  oft 
*  took  III,  line  43. 


130          THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Gazing  with  reckless  passion,  while  its  garb 

The  spectre  heightens,  and  its  pompous  tale 

Repeats  with  some  new  circumstance,  to  suit 

That  early  tincture  of  the  hearer's  soul.  465 

And  should  the  guardian  REASON,  but  for  one 

Short  moment  yield  to  this  illusive  scene 

His  ear  and  eye,  the  intoxicating  charm 

Involves  him,  till  no  longer  he  discerns, 

Or  only  guides  to  err.     *  Then  revel  forth  4-70 

A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne, 

And  all  is  uproar.     Hence  ambition  climbs 

With  sliding  feet  and  hands  impure,  to  grasp 

Those  solemn  toys  which  glitter  in  his  view 

On  fortune's  rugged  steep  :  hence  pale  Revenge       475 

Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger  :  Rapine  hence 

And  envious  Lust,  by  venal  fraud  upborne, 

Surmount  the  reverend  barrier  of  the  laws 

Which  kept  them  from  their  prey  :  hence  all  the  CRIMES 

That  e'er  defiled  the  earth,  and  all  the  PLAGUES        480 

That  follow  them  for  vengeance,  in  the  guise 

Of  HONOUR,  SAFETY,  PLEASURE,  EASE,  or  POMP, 

Stole  first  into  the  fond  believing  mind. 

Yet  not  by  FANCY'S  witchcraft  on  the  brain 
Are  always  the  tumultuous  PASSIONS  driven  485 

To  guilty  deeds,  nor  REASON  bound  in  chains 
That  VICE  alone  may  lord  it.     t  Oft,  adorned 
With  motley  pageants,  FOLLY  mounts  his  throne, 
And  plays  her  ideot  antics,  like  a  queen. 
A  thousand  garbs  she  wears  :  a  thousand  ways         490 
She  whirls  her  giddy  empire.     Lo,  thus  far 
With  bold  adventure  to  the  Mantuan  lyre 

*  Bwk  III,  line  51.  -f   Book  III,  line  67, 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  131 

I  sing  for  contemplation  linked  with  love, 
A  pensive  theme.     Now  haply  should  my  song 
Unbend  that  serious  countenance,  and  learn  495 

THALIA'S  tripping  gait,  her  shrill-toned  voice, 
Her  wiles  familiar :  whether,  scorn  she  darts 
In  wanton  ambush  from  her  lip  or  eye, 
Or  whether,  with  a  sad  disguise  of  care 
O'ermantling  her  gay  brow,  she  acts  in  sport  500 

The  deeds  of  FOLLY,  and  from  all  sides  round 
Calls  forth  impetuous  Laughter's  gay  rebuke ; 
Her  province.     *  But  through  every  comic  scene 
To  lead  my  Muse  with  her  light  pencil  arm'd  ; 
Through  every  swift  occason  which  the  hand  503 

Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting- 
Distends  her  labouring  sides  and  chokes  her  tongue  ; 
Were  endless  as  to  sound  each  grating  note 
With  which  the  rooks,  and  chattering  daws,  and  grave 
Unwieldy  inmates  of  the  village  pond,  510 

The  changing  seasons  of  the  sky  proclaim  ; 
Sun,  cloud,  or  shower,     f  Suffice  it  to  have  said, 
Where'er  the  power  of  RIDICULE  displays 
Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form 
Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combined          515 
Strikes  on  her  quick  perception  :  whether  pomp, 
Or  praise,  or  beauty,  be  dragg'd  in  and  shown, 
Where  sordid  fashions,  where  ignoble  deeds, 
Where  foul  deformity  is  wont  to  dwell; 
Or  whether  these,  with  shrewd  and  wayward  spite,  520 
Invade  resplendent  pomp's  imperious  mien, 
The  charms  of  beauty,  or  the  boast  of  praise. 

Ask  t  we  for  what  fair  end  the  almighty  SIRE     * 
*  Look  III,  line  241.    f  Book  III,  line  248.  {  Book  III,  line  259, 


132         THE    PLEASURES   OF  THE 

In  mortal  bosoms  stirs  this  gay  contempt, 

These  grateful  pangs  of  laughter ;  from  disgust         525 

Educing  pleasure  ?     Wherefore,  but  to  aid 

The  tardy  steps  of  REASON,  and  at  once 

By  this  prompt  impulse*  urge  us  to  depress 

Wild  FOLLY'S  aims  ?     For  though  the  sober  light 

Of  TRUTH  slow-dawning  on  the  watchful  mind          530 

At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie, 

How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 

In  public  evil ;  yet  benignant  Heaven, 

Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears 

To  thousands,  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause  535 

From  labour  and  from  care  the  wider  lot 

Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 

To  scan  the  maze  of  nature,  therefore  stamp'd 

These  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn, 

As  broad,  as  obwous  to  the  passing  clown  £40 

As  to  the  letter M  sage's  curious  eye. 

But  other  evils  o'er  the  steps  of  man 
Through  all  his  walks  impend ;  against  whose  might 
The  slender  darts  of  laughter  nought  avail : 
A  trivial  warfare.     Some,  like  cruel  guards,  545 

On  NATURE'S  ever-moving  throne  attend  ; 
With  mischief  arm'd  for  him  whoe'er  shall  thwart 
The  path  of  her  INEXORABLE  WHEELS, 
While  she  pursues  the  work  that  must  be  done         549 
Through  ocean,  earth,  and  air.    Hence  frequent  forms 
Of  woe ;  the  merchant,  with  his  wealthy  bark, 
Buried  by  dashing  waves ;  the  traveller 
Pierced  by  the  pointed  lightning  in  his  haste ; 
And  the  poor  husbandman,  with  folded  arms, 
Surveying  his  lost  labours,  and  a  heap  555 


IMAGINATION,         B.  II.          133 

Of  blasted  chaff  the  product  of  the  field 

Whence  he  expected  bread.     But  worse  than  these 

I  deem,  far  worse,  that  other  race  of  ills 

Which  human  kind  rear  up  among  themselves ; 

That  horrid  offspring  which  misgovern' d  will  560 

Bears  to  fantastic  error-,  VICES,  CRIMES  : 

Furies  that  curse  the  earth,  and  make  the  blows, 

The  heaviest  blows,  of  Nature's  innocent  hand 

Seem  sport :  which  are  indeed  but  as  the  care 

Of  a  wise  parent,  who  solicits  good  565 

To  all  her  house,  though  haply  at  the  price 

Of  tears  and  froward  wailing  and  reproach 

From  some  unthinking  child,  whom  not  the  less 

Its  mother  destines  to  be  happy  still. 

These  sources  then  of  pain,  this  double  lot  570 

Of  evil  in  the  inheritance  of  man, 
Required  for  his  protection  no  slight  force, 
No  careless  watch.     And  therefore  was  his  breast 
Fenced  round  with  passions,  quick  to  be  alarm'd, 
Or  stubborn  to  oppose  ;  with  FEAR,  more  swift         575 
Than  beacons  catching  flame  from  hill  to  hill, 
Where  armies  land  \  with  ANGER,  uncontrol'd 
As  the  young  lion  bounding  on  his  prey ; 
With  SORROW,  that  locks  up  the  struggling  heart, 
And  SHAME,  that  overcasts  the  drooping  eye  580 

As  with  a  cloud  of  lightening.     These  the  part 
Perform  of  eager  monitors,  arid  goad 
The  soul  more  sharply  than  with  points  of  steel, 
Her  enemies  to  shun  or  to  resist. 
And  as  those  passions,  that  converse  with  good,        535 
Are  good  themselves ;  as  HOPE  and  LOVE  and  Joy, 
Among  the  fairest  and  the  sweetest  boons 
M 


134         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Of  life,  we  rightly  count ;  so  these,  which  guard 

Against  INVADING  EVIL,  still  excite 

Some  pain,  some  tumult :  these,  within  the  mind     59® 

Too  oft  admitted  or  too  Jong  retained, 

Shock  their  frail  seat,  and  by  their  uncurb'd  rage 

To  savages  more  fell  than  Libya  breeds, 

Transform  themselves  :  till  human  thought  becomes 

A  gloomy  ruin,  haunt  of  shapes  unblessed,  595 

Of  self-tormenting  fiends ;  HORROR,  DESPAIR, 

HATRED,  and  wicked  ENVY  :  foes  to  all 

The  works  of  Nature  and  the  cnfts  of  Heaven. 

o 

But  when  through  blameless  paths  to  righteous  ends 
Those  keener  passions  urge  the  awaken'd  soul,          600 
I  would  not,  as  ungracious  violence, 
Their  sway  describe,  nor  from  their  free  career 
The  fellowship  of  pleasure  quite  exclude. 
For  what  can  render,  to  the  SELF-APPROVED, 
Their  temper  void  of  comfort,  though  in  pain  ?         605 
Who  *  knows  not  with  what  majesty  divine 
The  forms  of  TRUTH  and  JUSTICE  to  the  mind 
Appear,  ennobling  oft  the  sharpest  woe 
With  triumph  and  rejoicing  ?  Who,  that  bears 
A  human  bosom,  hath  not  often  felt  610 

How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 
In  gentleness  together,  and  how  sweet 
Their  force,  let  Fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 
Be  kind  or  cruel  ?  t  Ask  the  faithful  youth 
Why  the  cold  urn,  of  her  whom  long  he  loved,        615 
So  often  fills  his  arms  ;  s\>  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps,  silent  and  unseen, 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
*  Book  II,  line  673.        f  Boo*  ll> 


IMAGINATION.        B.  II.  135 

O  !  he -will  tell  tbee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego  620 

Those  sacred  hours  ;  when,  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  sooths 
With  VIRTUE'S  kindest  looks  his  aking  breast, 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture.    *  Ask  the  crowd, 
Which  flies  impatient  from  the  village  walk  625 

To  climb  the  neighbouring  cliiFs,  when  far  below 
The  savage  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 
Some  helpless  bark ;  while  holy  PITY  melts 
The  general  eye,  or  TERROR'S  icy  hand 
Smites  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair;          630 
While  ev?ery  mother  closer  to  her  breast 
Catcheth  her  child,  and,  pointing  where  the  waves 
Foam  through  the  shattered  vessel,  shrieks  aloud 
As  one  poor  wretch,  who  spreads  his  piteous  arms 
For  succour,  swallow'd  by  the  roaring  surge  ;  635 

As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock, 
Drops  lifeless  down.     O  !  deemest  thou  indeed 
No  pleasing  influence  here  by  Nature  given 
To  mutual  terror  and  compassion's  tears  ? 
No  tender  charm  mysterious,  which  attracts  640 

O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain  the  social  powers, 
To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 
Ask  f  thy  own  heart;  when,  at  the  midnight  hour, 
Slow  through  that  pensive  gloom  thy  pausing  eye, 
Led  by  the  glimmering  taper,  moves  around  645 

The  reverend  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs 
Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  fame 
For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  SOVRAN  POWER 
Of  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page, 
*  Book  IT,  line  693.  .f  Book  II,  line  712. 


136      THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Even  as  a  father  meditating  all  650 

The  praises  of  his  son ;  and  bids  the  rest 
Of  mankind  there  the  fairest  model  learn 
Of  their  own  nature,  and  the  noblest  deeds 
Which  yet  the  world  hath  seen ; — if  then  thy  soul 
Join  in  the  lot  of  those  diviner  men  ?  655 

Say  ;  when  the  prospect  darkens  on  thy  view ; 
When  sunk  by  many  a  wound,  heroic  states 
Mourn  in  the  dust  and  tremble  at  the  frown 
Of  hard  ambition  ;  *  when  the  generous  band 
Of  youths  who  fought  for  freedom  and  their  sires     660 
Lie  side  by  side  in  death ;  when  brutal  force 
Usurps  the  throne  of  justice,  turns  the  pomp 
Of  guardian  power,  the  majesty  of  rule, 
The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe, 
To  poor  dishonest  pageants,  to  adorn  665 

A  robber's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 
Of  such  as  bow  the  knee ;  t  when  beauteous  works, 
Rewards  of  virtue,  sculptured  forms,  which  deck'd 
With  more  than  human  grace  the  warrior's  arch, 
Or  patriot's  tomb,  now  victims  to  appease  670 

Tyrannic  envy,  strew  the  common  path 
With  awful  ruins ;  when  the  Muse's  haunt, 
The  marble  porch,  where  wisdom  wont  to  talk 
With  SOCRATES  or  TULLY,  hears  no  more, 
Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks,  675 

Or  female  superstition's  midnight  prayer ; 
When  ruthless  havoc  from  the  hand  of  Time 
Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  stroke 
To  mow  the  monuments  of  glory  down  ; 
Till  desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street  68O 

*  Book  II,  line-  726,  f  Book  II,  line  7a4. 


IMAGINATION,        B.  II.  137 

Expands  her  raven  wings,  and,  from  the  gate 

Where  *  senates  once  the  weal  of  nations  planned, 

Hisseth  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 

That  clasp  the  mouldering  column  :  thus  when  all 

The  widely-mournful  scene  is  fix'd  within  685 

Thy  throbbing  bosom  ;  when  the  patriot's  tear 

Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 

In  fancy,  hurls  the  thunderbolt  of  JOVE 

To  fire  the  impious  wreath  on  PHILIP'S  brow, 

Or  dash  OCTAVIUS  from  the  trophied  car ;  690 

Say,  t  doth  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 

The  big  distress  ?  or  would'st  thou  then  exchange 

Those  heart-ennobling  sorrows  for  the  lot 

Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd 

Of  silent  flatterers  bending  to  his  noc3>  695 

And  o'er  them,  like  a  giant,  casts  his  eye, 

And  says  within  himself,  "  I  am  a  king, 

"  And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 

"  Intrude  upon  mine  ear  ?"  The  dregs  corrupt 

Of  barbarous  ages,  that  Circaean  draught  700 

Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet, 

Bless Jd  be  the  ETERNAL  RULER  of  the  world  ! 

Yet  have  not  so  dishonoured,  so  deformM 

The  native  judgment  of  the  human  soul, 

Nor  so  effaced  the  image  of  her  sire,  705 

*  Book  II,  hue  748      f  Hock  II,  line  757. 

THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


M  2 


THE 


PLEASURES 


IMAGINATION: 

BOOK    THE    THIRD. 

A    F  R  A  GHENT, 
MDCCLXX. 

» V  HAT  tongue  then  may  explain  the  various  fate 
Which  reigns  o'er  earth  ?  or  who  to  mortal  eyes 
Illustrate  this  perplexing  labyrinth 
Of  joy  and  woe  through  which  the  feet  of  man 
Are  doom'd  to  wander  ?  That  ETERNAL  MIND  5 

From  passions,  wants,  and  envy,  far  estranged, 
Who  built  the  spacious  universe,  and  deck'd 
Each  part  so  richly  with  whate'er  pertains 
To  life,  to  health,  to  pleasure ;  why  bade  he 
The  viper  EVIL,  creeping  in,  pollute  10 

The  goodly  scene,  and  with  insidious  rage, 
While  the  poor  inmate  looks  around  and  smiles, 
JDart  her  fell  sting  with  poison  to  his  soul  ? 
Hard  is  the  question,  and  from  ancient  days 
Hath  still  oppressed  with  eare  the  sage's  thought  ;       1 5- 
Hath  drawn  forth  accents  from  the  poet's  lyre 
Too  sad,  too  deeply  plaintive  :  nor  did  e'er 


THE    PLEASURES,   £c.  ISO- 

Those  chiefs  of  human  kind,  from  whom  the  light 

Of  heavenly  truth  first  gleam'd  on  barbarous  lands, 

Forget  this  dreadful  secret,  when  they  told  20 

What  wonderous  things  had  to  their  favoured  eyes 

And  ears  on  cloudy  mountain  been  reveal'd, 

Or  i  n  deep  cave  by  nymph  or  power  divine  ; 

Portentous  oft  and  wild.     Yet  one  I  know, 

Could  I  the  speech  of  lawgivers  assume,  25 

One  old  and  splendid  tale  I  would  record 

With  which  the  Muse  of  SOLON  in  sweet  strains 

Adorn 'd  this  theme  profound,  and  rendered  all 

Its  darkness,  all  its  terrors,  bright  as  noon, 

Or  gentle  as  the  golden  star  of  eve.  34) 

Who  knows  not  SOLON  ?  last,  and  wisest  far, 

Of  those  whom  Greece  triumphant  in  the  height 

Of  glory,  styled  her  fathers  ?  him  whose  voice 

Through  Athens  hush'd  the  storm  of  civil  wrath  ; 

Taught  ENVIOUS  WANT  and  CRUEL  WEALTH  to  join      35 

In  friendship  ;  and,  with  sweet  compulsion,  tamed 

Minerva's  eager  people  to  his  laws, 

Which  their  own  goddess  in  his  breast  inspired  ?. 

'Tvvas  now  the  time  when  his  heroic  task 
Secm'd  but  performed  in  vain  :  when  sooth'd  by  years 
Of  flattering  service,  the  fond  multitude  41 

Hung  with  their  sudden  counsels  on  the  breath 
Of  great  PISISTRATUS  :  that  chief  renown'd, 
Whom  Hermes  and  the  Idalian  queen  had  train'd 
Even  from  his  birth  to  every  powerful  art  45 

Of  pleasing  and  persuading :  from  whose  lips 
Flowed  eloquence,  which  like  the  vows  of  love 
Could  steal  away  suspicion  from  the  hearts 
Of  all  who  listened.    Thus  from  day  to  day 


UO         THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

He  won  the  general  suffrage,  and  beheld  50 

Each  rival  overshadowed  and  depress M 

Beneath  his  ampler  state  :  yet  oft  complain'd, 

As  one  less  kindly  treated,  who  had  hoped 

To  merit  favour,  but  submits  perforce 

To  find  another's  services  preferred ;  55 

Nor  yet  relaxeth  aught  of  faith  or  zeal. 

Then  tales  were  scattered  of  his  envious  foes, 

Of  snares  that  wateh'd  his  fame,  of  daggers  jaim'd 

Against  his  life.     At  last  with  trembling  limbs, 

His  hair  diffused  and  wild,  his  garments  loose,  60 

And  stain'd  with  blood  from  self-inflicted  wounds, 

He  burst  into  the  public  place,  as  there, 

There  only,  were  his  refuge  ;  and  declared 

In  broken  words,  with  sighs  of  deep  regret, 

The  mortal  danger  he  had  scarce  repell'd.  65 

Fired  with  his  tragic  tale,  the  indignant  crowd, 

To  guard  his  steps,  forthwith  a  menial  band, 

ArrayM  beneath  his  eye  for  deeds  of  war, 

Decree.     0  still  too  liberal  of  their  trust. 

And  oft  betray'd  by  over-grateful  love,  70 

The  generous  people  !     Nowr  behold  him  fenced 

By  mercenary  weapons,  like  a  king*, 

Forth  issuing  from  the  city  gate  at  eve 

To  seek  his  rural  mansion,  and  with  pomp 

Crowding  the  public  road.     The  swain  stops  short,    75 

And  sighs  :  the  officious  townsmen  stand  at  gaze 

And  shrinking  give  the  sullen  pageant  room. 

Yet  not  the  less  obsequious  was  his  brow  ; 

Nor  less  profuse  of  courteous  words  his  tongue, 

Of  gracious  gifts  his  hand  :  the  while  by  stealth,        80 

Like  a  small  torrent  fed  with  evening  showers, 


IMAGINATION.         B.  III.         141 

His  train  increased.     Till,  at  that  fatal  time 

Just  as  the  public  eye,  with  doubt  and  shame 

Startled,  began  to  question  what  it  saw, 

Swift  as  the  sound  of  earthquakes  rush'd  a  voice         85 

Through  Athens,  that  PISISTRATUS  had  fillM 

The  rocky  citadel  with  hostile  arms, 

Had  barr'd  the  steep  ascent,  and  sate  within 

Amid  his  hirelings,  meditating  death 

To  all  whose  stubborn  necks  his  yoke  refused.  90 

Where  then  was  SOLON  ?     After  ten  long  years 

Of  absence,  full  of  haste  from  foreign  shores 

The  sage,  the  lawgiver  had  now  arrived  : 

Arrived,  alas,  to  see  that  Athens,  that 

Fair  temple  raised  by  him,  and  sacred  call'd  95 

To  LIBERTY  and  CONCORD,  now  profaned 

By  savage  hate,  or  sunk  into  a  den 

Of  slaves,  who  crouch  beneath  the  master's  scourge, 

And  deprecate  his  wrath  and  court  his  chains. 

Yet  did  not  the  wise  patriot's  grief  impede  1 OO 

His  virtuous  will,  nor  was  his  heart  inclined 

One  moment  with  such  woman-like  distress 

To  view  the  transient  storms  of  civil  war, 

As  thence  to  yield  his  country  and  her  hopes 

To  all-devouring  bondage.     His  bright  helm,  105 

Even  while  the  traitor's  impious  act  is  told, 

He  buckles  on  his  hoary  head  :  he  girds 

With  mail  his  stooping  breast :  the  shield,  the  spear 

He  snatcheth ;  and  with  swift  indignant  strides 

The  assembled  people  seeks  :  proclaims  aloud  110 

It  was  no  time  for  counsel :  in  their  spears 

Lay  all  their  prudence  now  :  the  tyrant  yet 

Was  not  so  firmly  seated  on  his  throne, 


142          THE   PLEASURES    OF  THE 

But  that  one  shock  of  their  united  force 
Would  dash  him  from  the  summit  of  his  pride         115 
Headlong  and  groveling  in  the  dust.     What  else 
Can  re-assert  the  lost  Athenian  name 
So  cheaply  to  the  laughter  of  the  world 
Betray'd ;  by  guile  beneath  an  infant's  faith 
So  mock'd  and  scorivd  ?     Away  then  :  FREEDOM  now 
And  SAFETY  dwell  not  but  with  FAME  IN  ARMS  :          121 
Myself  will  shew  you  where  their  mansion  lies, 
And  through  the  walks  of  Danger  or  of  Death 
Conduct  you  to  them.     While  he  spake,  through  all 
Their  crowded  ranks  his  quick  sagacious  eye  125 

He  darted ;  where  no  cheerful  voice  was  heard 
Of  social  daring ;  no  stretched  arm  was  seen 
Hastening  their  common  task  :  but  pale  mistrust 
Wrinkled  each  brow  :  they  shook  their  heads,  and  down 
Their  slack  hands  hung  :    colds  sighs  and  whisper 'd 
doubts  130 

From  breath  to  breath  stole  round.  The  SAGE  mean  time 
Looked  speechless  on,  while  his  big  bosom  heaved, 
Struggling  with  shame  and  sorrow  :  till  at  last 
A  tear  broke  forth ;  and,  O  immortal  shades, 
O  THESEUS,  he  exclaimed,  O  CODRUS,  where,  135 

Where  are  ye  now  ?  behold  for  what  ye  toil'd 
Through  life  ?  behold  for  whom  ye  chose  to  die. 
No  more  he  added  ;  but  with  lonely  steps 
Weary  and  slow,  his  silver  beard  depressed, 
And  his  stern  eyes  bent  heedless  on  the  ground,       1 40 
Back  to  his  silent  dwelling  he  repaired. 
There  o'er  the  gate,  his  armour,  as  a  man 
Whom  from  the  service  of  the  war  his  chief 
Dismisseth  after  no  inglorious  toil, 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.  143 

He  fix'd  in  general  view.     One  wishful  look  1 45 

He  sent,  unconscious,  toward  the  public  place 
At  parting  :  then  beneath  his  quiet  roof 
Without  a  word,  without  a  sigh,  retired. 

Scarce  had  the  morrow's  sun  his  golden  rays 
From  sweet  Hymettus  darted  o'er  the  fanes  1 50 

Of  Cecrops  to  the  Salaminian  shores, 
When,  lo,  on  SOLON'S  threshold  met  the  feet 
Of  four  Athenians,  by  the  same  sad  care 
Conducted  all :  than  whom  the  state  beheld 
None  nobler.     First  came  MEGACLES,  the  son  155 

Of  great  ALCM^EON,  whom  the  Lydian  king 
The  mild,  unhappy  CROESUS,  in  his  days 
Of  glory  had  with  costly  gifts  adorn 'd, 
Fair  vessels,  splendid  garments,  tinctured  webs 
And  heaps  of  treasured  gold  beyond  the  lot  160 

Of  many  sovereigns  ;  thus  requiting  well 
That  hospitable  favour  which  erewhile 
ALCMAON  to  his  messengers  had  shewn, 
Whom  he  with  offerings  worthy  of  the  god 
Sent  from  his  throne  in  Sardis  to  revere  1 Q5 

Apollo's  Delphic  shrine.     With  MEGACLES 
Approach'd  his  son,  whom  Ac  ARISTA  bore, 
The  virtuous  child  of  CLISTHENES,  whose  hand 
Of  Grecian  sceptres  the  most  ancient  far 
In  Sicyon  sway'd  :  but  greater  fame  he  drew  170 

From  arms  control'd  by  justice,  from  the  love 
Of  the  wise  MUSES,  and  the  unenvied  wreath 
Which  glad  OLYMPIA  gave.     For  thither  once 
His  warlike  steeds  the  hero  led,  and  there 
Contended  through  the  tumult  of  the  course  175 

With  skilful  wheels.    Then  victor  at  the  goal, 


144        THE   PLEASURE  SOFT  HE 

Amid  the  applauses  of  assembled  Greece, 
N  High  on  his  car  he  stood  and  waved  his  arm. 
Silence  ensued  :  when  strait  the  herald's  voice 
Was  heard,  inviting  every  Grecian  youth,  180 

Whom  CLISTHENES  content  might  call  his  son, 
To  visit,  ere  twice  thirty  days  were  past, 
The  towers  of  Sicyon.     There  the  chief  decreed, 
Within  the  circuit  of  the  following  year, 
To  join  at  Hymen's  altar,  hand  in  hand  1 85 

With  his  fair  daughter,  him  among  the  guests 
Whom  worthiest  he  should  deem.     Forthwith  from  all 
The  bounds  of  Greece  the  ambitious  wooers  came  : 
From  rich  Hesperia;  from  the  Illyrian  shore 
Where  Epidamnus  over  Adria's  surge  1 90 

Looks  on  the  setting  sun ;  from  those  brave  tribe* 
Chaoriian  or  Molossian,  whom  the  race 
Of  great  ACHILLES  governs,  glorying  still 
In  Troy  o'erthrown  ;  from  rough  jiEtolia,  nurse 
Of  men  who  first  among  the  Greeks  threw  off          195 
The  yoke  of  kings,  to  commerce  and  to  arms 
Devoted ;  from  Thessalia's  fertile  meads, 
Where  flows  Peneus  near  the  lofty  walls 
Of  Cranon  old  ;  from  strong  Eretria,  queen 
Of  all  Euboean  cities,  who,  sublime  200 

On  the  steep  margin  of  Euripus,  views 
Across  the  tide  the  Marathonian  plain, 
Not  yet  the  haunt  of  glory.     Athens  too, 
Minerva's  care,  among  her  graceful  sons 
Found  equal  lovers  for  the  princely  maid  :  205 

Nor  was  proud  Argos  wanting ;  nor  the  domes 
Of  sacred  Elis ;  nor  the  Arcadian  groves 
That  overshade  Alpheus,  echoing  oft 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.          1 45 

Some  shepherd's  song.    But  through  the  illustrious  band 
Was  none  who  might  with  MEGACLES  compare         210 
In  all  the  honours  of  unbleniish'd  youth. 
His  was  the  beauteous  bride  :  and  now  their  son, 
Young  CLISTHENES,  betimes,  at  SOLON'S  gate 
Stood  anxious  ;  leaning  forward  on  the  arm 
Of  his  great  sire,  with  earnest  eyes  that  ask'd  215 

When  the  slow  hinge  would  turn,  with  restless  feet, 
And  cheeks  now  pale,  now  glowing :  for  his  heart 
Throbb'd,  full  of  bursting  passions ;  anger,  grief 
With  scorn  imbitter'd,  by  the  generous  boy 
Scarce  understood,  but  which,  like  noble  seeds,        220 
Are  destined  for  his  country  and  himself 
In  riper  years  to  bring  forth  fruits  divine 
Of  liberty  and  glory.     Next  appear'd 
Two  brave  companions  whom  one  mother  bore 
To  different  lords ;  but  whom  the  better  ties  225 

Of  firm  esteem  and  friendship  rendered  more 
Than  brothers  :-  first  MILTIADES,  who  drew 
From  godlike  JEAcus  his  ancient  line ; 
That  J£ACUS  whose  unimpe'ach'd  renown 
For  sanctity  and  justice  won  the  lyre  230 

Of  elder  bards  to  celebrate  him  throned 
In  Hades  o'er  the  dead,  where  his  decrees 
The  guilty  soul  within  the  burning  gates 
Of  Tartarus  compel,  or  send  the  good 
To  inhabit  with  eternal  health  and  peace  235 

The  vallies  of  Elysium.     From  a  stein 
So  sacred,  ne'er  could  worthier  scyon  spring 
Than  this  MILTIADES  ;  whose  aid  ere-long 
The  chiefs  of  Thrace,  already  on  their  ways 
Sent  by  the  inspired  foreknowing  maid,  who  sits      240 
N 


14(5          THE  PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Upon  the  .Delphic  tripod,  shall  implore 

To  wield  their  sceptre,  and  the  rural  wealth 

Of  fruitful  Chersonesus  to  protect 

With  arms  and  laws.     But,  nothing  careful  now 

Save  for  his  injured  country,  here  he  stands  243 

In  deep  solicitude  with  GIMON  joined  : 

Unconscious  both  what  widely-different  lots, 

Await  them,  taught  by  nature  as  they  are 

To  know  one  common  good,  one  common  ill. 

For  CIMON,  not  his  valour,  not  his  birth  250 

Derived  from  CODRUS,  not  a  thousand  gifts 

Dealt  round  him  with  a  wise,  benignant  hand, 

No,  nor  the  Olympic  olive  by  himself 

From  his  own  brow  transferred  to  soolh  the  mind 

Of  this  PISISTRATUS,  can  long  preserve  255 

From  the  fell  envy  of  the  Tyrant's  sons, 

And  their  assassin  dagger.     But  if  death 

Obscure  upon  his  gentle  steps  attend, 

Yet  fate  -an  ample  recompense  prepares 

In  his  victorious  son,  that  other  great  26® 

MILTIADES,  who  o'er  the  very  throne 

Of  glory  shall  with  Time's  assiduous  hand 

In  adamantine  characters  engrave 

The  name  of  ATHENS ;  and  by  freedom  arm'd 

'Gainst  the  gigantic  pride  of  ASIA'S  KING,  265 

Shall  all  the  atchievements  of  the  heroes  old 

Surmount;  of  Hercules,  of  all  who  sail'd 

From  Thessaly  with  Jason,  all  who  fought 

For  empire  or  for  fame,  at  Thebes  or  Troy. 

Such  were  the  patriots  who  within  the  porch        270 
Of  SOLON  had  assembled.     But  the  gate 
Now  opens,  and  across  the  ample  floor 


IMAGINATION.         B.  III.  H7 

Straight  they  proceed  into  an  open  space 

Bright  with  the  beams  of  morn  :  a  verdant  spot, 

Where  stands  a  rural  altar,  piled  with  sods  275 

Cut  from  the  grassy  turf  and  girt  with  wreaths 

Of  branching  palm.     Here  SOLON'S  self  they  found 

Clad  in  a  robe  of  purple  pure,  and  deck'cl 

With  leaves  of  olive  on  his  reverend  brow. 

He  bow'd  before  the  altar,  and  o'er  cakes  280 

Of  barley  from  two  earthen  vessels  pourM 

Of  honey  and  of  milk  a  plenteous  stream  ; 

Calling  meantime  the  Muses  to  accept 

His  simple  offering,  by  no  victim  tinged 

With  blood,  nor  sullied  by  destroying  fire  ;  285 

But  such  as  for  himself  Apollo  claims 

In  his  own  Delos,  where  his  favourite  haunt 

Is  thence  the  "  Altar  of  the  Pious"  named. 

Unseen  the  guests  drew  near,  and  silent  viewed 

That  worship ;  till  the  hero-priest  his  eye  290 

Turn'd  toward  a  seat  on  which  prepared  there  lay 

A  branch  of  laurel.     Then  his  friends  confessed 

Before  him  stood.     Backward  his  step  he  drew, 

As  loath  that  care  or  tumult  should  approach 

Those  early  rites  divine  :  but  soon  their  looks,          295 

So  anxious,  and  their  hands,  held,  forth  with  such 

Desponding  gesture,  bring  him  on  perforce 

To  speak  to  their  affliction.     Are  ye  come, 

He  cried,  to  mourn  with  me  this  common  shame  ? 

Or  ask  ye  some  new  effort  which  may  break  300 

Our  fetters  ?  Know  then,  of  the  public  cause 

Not  for  yon  traitor's  cunning,  or  his  might 

Do  I  despair  :  nor  could  I  wish  from  JOVE 

Aught  dearer,  than  at  this  late  hour  of  life, 


148         THE  PLEASURES   OF    THE 

As  once  by  laws,  so  now  by  strenuous  arms  305 

From  impious  violation  to  assert 

The  rights  our  fathers  left  us.     But,  alas  ! 

What  arms  ?  or  who  shall  wield  them  ?  Ye  beheld 

The  Athenian  people.     Many  bitter  days 

Must  pass,  and  many  wounds  from  cruel  pride         310 

Be  feit,  ere  yet  their  partial  hearts  find  room 

For  just  resentment,  or  their  hands  indure 

To  smite  this  tyrant  brood,  so  near  to  all 

Their  hopes,  so  oft  admired,  so  long  beloved. 

THAT  TIME  WILL  COME,  however.     Be  it  yours  31& 

To  watch  its  fair  approach,  and  urge  it  on 

With  honest  prudence  :  me  it  ill  beseems 

Again  to  supplicate  the  unwilling  crowd 

To  rescue  from  a  vile  deceiver's  hold 

That  envied  power  which  once  with  eager  zeal         320 

They  offered  to  myself;  nor  can  I  plunge 

In  counsels  deep  and  various,  nor  prepare 

For  distant  wars,  thus  faltering  as  I  tread 

On  life's  last  verge,  ere-long  to  join  the  shades 

Of  MINOS  and  LYCURGUS.     But  behold  325 

What  care  employs  me  now.     My  vows  I  pay 

To  the  sweet  MUSES,  teachers  of  my  youth 

And  solace  of  my  age.     If  right  I  deem 

Of  the  still  voice  that  whispers  at  my  heart, 

The  immortal  sisters  have  not  quite  withdrawn         330 

Their  old  harmonious  influence.     Let  your  tongues 

With  sacred  silence  favour  what  I  speak, 

And  haply  shall  my  faithful  lips  be  taught 

To  unfold  celestial  counsels,  which  may  arm, 

As  with  impenetrable  steel,  your  breasts  335 

For  the  long  strife  before  you,  and  repel 


IMAGINATION    BOOK     III.         149 

The  darts  of  adverse  fate.     He  said,  and  snatch'd 

The  laurel  bough,  and  sate  in  silence  down, 

Fix'd,  wrapp'd  in  solemn  musing,  full  before 

The  sun,  who  now  from  all  his  radiant  orb  340 

Drove  the  gray  clouds,  and  pour'd  his  genial  light 

Upon  the  breast  of  SOLON.     Solon  raised 

Aloft  the  leafy  rod,  and  thus  began. 

Ye  beauteous  offspring  of  Olympian  JOVE 
And  MEMORY  divine,  PIERIAN  MAIDS,  345 

Hear  me,  propitious.     In  the  morn  of  life, 
When  hope  shone  bright  and  all  the  prospect  smiled, 
To  your  sequester  M  mansion  oft  my  steps 
Were  turriM,  O  MUSES,  and  within  your  gate 
My  offerings  paid.     Ye  taught  me  then,  with  strains 
Of  flowing  harmony  to  soften  war's  3.51 

Dire  voice,  or  in  fair  colours,  that  might  charm 
The  public  eye,  to  clothe  the  form  austere 
Of  civil  counsel.     Now  my  feeble  age 
Neglected,  and  supplanted  of  the  hope  355 

On  which  it  leaned,  yet  sinks  not ;  but  to  you, 
To  your  mild  wisdom  flies,  refuge  beloved 
Ot  solitude  and  silence.     Ye  can  teach 
The  visions  of  my  bed,  whatever  the  gods 
In  the  rude  ages  of  the  world  inspired,  360 

Or  the  first  heroes  acted  :  ye  can  make 
The  morning  light  more  gladsome  to  my  sense, 
Than  ever  it  appeared  to  active  youth 
Pursuing  careless  pleasure  :  ye  can  give 
To  this  long  leisure,  these  unheeded  hours,  365 

A  labour  as  sublime,  as  when  the  sons 
Of  Athens,  throng'd  arid  speechless,  round  me  stood 
Ta  hear  pronounced  for  all  their  future  deeds 
N  2 


150         THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

The  bounds  of  RIGHT  and  WRONG.    CELESTIAL  POWERS, 

I  feel  that  ye  are  near  me  :  and  behold,  370 

To  meet  your  energy  divine,  I  bring 

A  high  and  sacred  theme  ;  not  less  than  those 

Which  to  the  eternal  custody  of  FAME 

Your  lips  intrusted,  when  of  old  ye  deign' J 

With  ORPHEUS  or  with  HOMER  to  frequent  375 

The  groves  of  Haemus  or  the  Chian  shore. 

o 

Ye  know,  HARMONIOUS  MAIDS  !   (for  what  of  all 
My  various  life  was  e'er  from  you  estranged  ?) 
Oft  hath  my  solitary  song  to  you 
Reveal'd  that  duteous  pride,  which  turn'd  my  steps 
To  willing  exile  ;  earnest  to  withdraw  381 

From  envy  and  the  disappointed  thirst 
Of  lucre  ;  lest  the  bold  familiar  strife, 
Which  in  the  eye  of  Athens  they  upheld 
Against  her  legislator,  should  impair  385 

WTith  trivial  doubt  the  reverence  of  his  laws. 
To  Egypt  therefore  through  the  /Egean  isles 
My  course  I  steer'd,  and  by  the  banks  of  Nile 
Dwelt  in  Canopus.     Thence  the  hallow 'd  domes 
Of  Sa'is,  and  the  rites  to  Isis  paid,  390 

J  sought,  and  in  her  temple's  silent  courts, 
Through  many  changing  moons,  attentive  heard 
The  venerable  SONCHIS,  while  his  tongue 
At  morn  or  midnight  the  deep  story  told 
Of  her  who  represents  whate'er  HAS  BEEN,  395 

Or  is,  or  SHALL  BE  ;  whose  mysterious  veil 
No  mortal  hand  hath  ever  yet  removed. 
By  him  exhorted,  southward  to  the  walls 
Of  On  I  pass'd,  the  city  of  the  sun, 
The  ever-youthful  god,     'Twos  there  amid  400 


IMAGINATION.        B.  III.  151 

His  priests  and  sages,  who  the  live-long  night 

Watch  the  dread  movement?  of  the  starry  sphere, 

Or  who  in  wonderous  fables  half  disclose 

The  secrets  of  the  elements,  'twas  there 

That  great  P*ENOPHIS  taught  my  raptured  ears          403 

The  fame  of  old  ATLANTIS,  of  her  chiefs, 

And  her  pure  laws,  the  first  which  earth  obeyed. 

Deep  in  my  bosom  sunk  the    noble  tale  ; 

And  often,  while  I  listen'd,  did  my  mind 

Foretel  with  what  delight  her  own  free  lyre  410 

Should  sometime  for  an  Attic  audience  raise 

Anew  that  lofty  scene,  and  from  their  tombs 

Call  forth  those  ancient  demigods  to  speak 

Of  JUSTICE  and  the  hidden  PROVIDENCE 

That  walks  among  mankind.     But  yet  meantime     415 

The  mystic  pomp  of  Ammon's  gloomy  sons 

Became  less  pleasing.     With  contempt  I  gazed 

On  that  tame  garb,  and  those  unvarying  paths, 

To  which  the  double  yoke  of  king  and  priest 

Had  cramp'd  the  sullen  race.     At  last  with  hymns 

Invoking  our  own  Pallas  and  the  gods  421 

o  s 

Of  cheerful  Greece,  a  glad  farewell  I  gave 

To  Egypt,  and  before  the  southern  wind 

Spread  my  full  sails.     What  climes  I  then  surveyed, 

What  fortunes  I  encotmter'd  in  the  realm  425 

Of  CROESUS  or  upon  the  Cyprian  shore, 

The  MUSE,  who  prompts  my  bosom,  doth  not  now 

Consent  that  I  reveal.     But  when  at  length 

Ten  times  the  sun  returning  from  the  south  429 

Had  strow'd  with  flowers  the  verdant  earth,  and  fiil'd 

The  groves  with  music,  pleased  I  then  beheld 

The  term  of  those  lojig  errors  drawing  nigh. 


152       THE  PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Nor  yet,  I  said,  will  I  sit  down  within 

The  walls  of  Athens,  till  my  feet  have  trod 

The  Cretan  soil,  have  pierced  those  reverend  haunts 

Whence  law  and  civil  concord  issued  forth  4-36 

As  from  their  ancient  home,  and  still  to  Greece 

Their  wisest,  loftiest  discipline  proclaim. 

Strait  where  Amnisus,  mart  of  wealthy  ships, 

Appears  beneath  famed  Cnossus  and  her  towers        440 

Like  the  fair  handmaid  of  a  stately  queen, 

I  checked  my  prow,  and  thence  with  eager  steps 

The  city  of  MINOS  entered.     O  ye  gods, 

Who  taught  the  leaders  of  the  simpler  time 

By  WRITTEN  WORDS  to  curb  the  UNTOWARD  WILL  4-45 

Of  mortals !  how  within  that  generous  isle 

Have  ye  the  triumphs  of  your  power  displayed 

Munificent !  Those  splendid  merchants,  lords 

Of  traffic  and  the  sea,  with  what  delight 

I  saw  them  at  their  public  meal,  like  sons  450 

Of  the  same  household,  join  the  plainer  sort 

Whose  wealth  was  only  freedom  !  whence  to  these 

Vile  ENVY,  and  to  those  fantastic  PRIDE, 

Alike  was  strange ;  but  noble  concord  still 

Cherish'd  the  strength  untamed,  the  rustic  faith,      455 

Of  their  first  fathers.     Then  the  growing  race, 

How  pleasing  to  behold  them  in  their  schools, 

Their  sports,  their  labours,  ever  placed  within, 

O  shade  of  MINOS,  thy  controling  eye  ! 

Here  was  a  docile  band  in  tuneful  tones  460 

Thy  laws  pronouncing,  or  with  lofty  hymns 

Praising  the  bounteous  gods,  or,  to  preserve 

Their  country's  heroes  from  oblivious  night, 

Resounding  what  the  MUSE  inspired  of  old  ^ 


IMAGINATION.         B.  III.         153 

There,  on  the  verge  of  manhood,  others  met,  465 

In  heavy  armour  through  the  heats  of  noon 

To  march,  the  rugged  mountains  height  to  climb 

With  measured  swiftness,  from  the  hard-bent  bow 

To  send  resistless  arrows  to  their  mark, 

Or  for  the  fame  of  prowess  to  contend,  470 

Now  wrestling,  now  with  fists  and  staves  opposed, 

Now  with  the  biting  falchion,  and  the  fence 

Of  brazen  shields  ;  while  still  the  warbling  flute 

Presided  o'er  the  combat,  breathing  strains 

Grave,  solemn,  soft ;  and  changing  headlong  spite    47  5 

To  thoughtful  resolution  cool  and  clear. 

Such  I  beheld  those  islanders  renowned, 

So  tutor'd  from  their  birth  to  meet  in  war 

Each  bold  invader,  and  in  peace  to  guard 

That  living  flame  of  reverence  for  their  laws  480 

Which  nor  the  storms  of  fortune,  nor  the  flood 

Of  foreign  wealth  diffused  o'er  all  the  land, 

Could  quench  or  slacken.     First  of  human  names 

In  every  Cretan's  heart  was  MINOS  still ;  485 

And  holiest  far,  of  what  the  sun  surveys 

Through  his  whole  course,  were  those  primeval  seats 

Which  with  religious  footsteps  he  had  taught 

Their  sires  to  approach  ;  the  wild  Dictaean  cave 

Where  JOVE  was  born  ;  the  ever-verdant  meads        490 

Of  Ida,  and  the  spacious  grotto,  where 

His  active  youth  he  pass'd,  and  where  his  throne 

Yet  stands  mysterious  ;  whither  MINOS  came 

Each  ninth  returning  year ;  the  KING  OF  GODS 

And  mortals  there  in  secret  to  consult  495 

On  JUSTICE,  and  the  tables  of  his  law 

To  inscribe  anew.     Oft  also  with  like  zeal 


154        THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Great  RHEA'S  mansion  from  the  Cnossian  gates 

Men  visit ;  nor  less  oft  the  antique  fane 

Built  on  that  sacred  spot,  along  the  banks  500 

Of  shady  Theron,  where  benignant  JOVE 

And  his  majestic  consort  join'd  their  hands 

And  spoke  their  nuptial  vows.     Alas,  'twas  there 

That  the  dire  fame  of  Athens  sunk  in  bonds 

I  first  received  ;  what  time  an  annual  feast  505 

Had  summoned  all  the  genial  country  round, 

By  sacrifice  and  pomp  to  bring  to  mind 

That  first  great  spousal ;  while  the  enamour'd  youths 

And  virgins,  with  the  priest  before  the  shrine, 

Observe  the  same  pure  ritual,  and  invoke  510 

The  same  glad  omens.     There,  among  the  crowd 

Of  strangers  from  those  naval  cities  drawn, 

Which  deck,  like  gems,  the  island's  northern  shore, 

A  merchant  of  4£gina  I  descried, 

My  ancient  host.     But,  forward  as  I  sprung  515 

To  meet  him,  he,  with  dark  dejected  brow, 

StoppM  half-averse;  and,  O  Athenian  guest, 

He  said,  art  thou  in  Crete  ;  these  joyful  rites 

Partaking  ?     Know,  thy  laws  are  blotted  out : 

Thy  country  kneels  before  a  tyrant's  throne.  520 

He  added  names  of  men,  with  hostile  deeds 

Disastrous  ;  which  obscure  and  indistinct 

I  heard  :  for,  while  he  spake  my  heart  grew  cold 

And  my  eyes  dim  :  the  altars  and  their  train 

No  more  were  present  to  me  :  how  I  fared,  525 

Or  whither  turn'd,  I  know  not ;  nor  recall 

Aught  of  those  moments  other  than  the  sense 

Of  one  who  struggles  in  oppressive  sleep 

And  from  the  toils  of  some  distressful  dream, 


IMAGINATION,         B.  III.         155 

To  break  away,  with  palpitating  heart,  530 

Weak  limbs,  and  temples  bath'd  in  death-like  dew, 
Makes  many  a  painful  effort.     When  at  last 
The  sun  and  nature's  face  again  appeared, 
Not  far  I  found  me ;  where  the  public  path, 
Winding  through  cypress  groves  and  swelling  meads, 
From  Cnossus  to  the  cave  of  JOVE  ascends.  536 

Heedless  I  follow'd  on  ;  till  soon  the  skirts 
Of  Ida  rose  before  me,  and  the  vault 
Wide-opening,  pierced  the  mountain's  rocky  side. 
Entering  within  the  threshold,  on  the  ground  540 

I  flung  me,  sad,  faint,  overworn  with  toil, 


;  THE 

PLEASURES 

\ 

OF    THE 

IMAGINATION: 

BOOK    THE    FOURTH. 

A     FRAGMENT. 

MDCCLXX. 

vJNE  effort  more,  one  cheerful  sally  more, 

Our  destined  course  will  finish ;  and  in  peace 

Then,  for  an  offering  sacred  to  the  powers 

Who  lent  us  gracious  guidance,  we  will  then 

Inscribe  a  monument  of  deathless  praise  ;  5 

O  my  adventurous  song  ! — with  steady  speed 

Long  hast  thou,  on  an  untried  voyage  bound, 

Sail'd  between  earth  and  heaven  :  hast  now  surveyed, 

Stretched  out  beneath  thee,  all  the  mazy  tracts 

Of  PASSION  and  OPINION;  like  a  waste  10 

Of  sands  and  flowery  lawns  and  tangling  woods, 

Where  mortals  roam  bewildered  :  and  hast  now 

Exulting  soar'd  among  the  worlds  above, 

Or  hover'd  near  the  eternal  gates  of  heaven, 

If  haply  the  discourses  of  the  gods,  ]  5 

A  curious,  but  an  unpresuming  guest, 

Thou  might'st  partake;  and  carry  back  some  strain 


THE    PLEASURES,    &c.  157 

Of  divine  wisdom,  lawful  to  repeat, 

And  apt  to  be  conceived  of  man  below. 

A  different  task  remains ;  the  secret  paths  20 

Of  early  genius  to  explore  :  to  trace 

Those  haunts  where  Fancy  her  predestined  sons, 

Like  to  the  Demigods  of  old,  doth  nurse 

Remote  from  eyes  profane.     Ye  happy  souls, 

Who  now  her  tender  discipline  obey,  25 

Where  dwell  ye  ?  What  wild  river's  brink  at  eve 

Imprint  your  steps  ?  What  solemn  groves  at  noon 

Use  ye  to  visit,  often  breaking  forth 

In  rapture  'mid  your  dilatory  walk, 

Or  musing,  as  in  slumber,  on  the  green  ?  3Q 

— Would  I  again  were  with  you  ! — O  ye  dales 

Of  Tyne,  and  ye  most  ancient  woodlands ;  where 

Oft  as  the  giant  flood  obliquely  strides, 

And  his  banks  open,  and  his  lawns  extend, 

Stops  short  the  pleased  traveller  to  view  35 

Presiding  o'er  the  scene  some  rustic  tower 

Founded  by  Norman  or  by  Saxon  hands  : 

0  ye  Northumbrian  shades,  which  overlook 
The  rocky  pavement  and  the  mossy  falls 

Of  solitary  Wensbeck's  limpid  stream;  40 

How  gladly  I  recall  your  well-known  seats 
Beloved  of  old,  and  that  delightful  time 
When  all  alone,  for  many  a  summer's  day, 

1  wander'd  through  your  calm  recesses,  led 

In  silence  by  some  powerful  hand  unseen.  45 

Nor  will  I  e'er  forget  you.     Nor  shaU  e'er 
The  graver  tasks  of  manhood,  or  the  advice 
Of  vulgar  wisdom,  move  me  to  disclaim 
Those  studies  which  possess'd  me  in  the  dawn 
O 


133          THE   PLEASURES   OF   THE 

Of  life,  and  fix'd  the  colour  of  my  mind  50 

For  every  future  year  :  whence  even  now 

From  sleep  I  rescue  the  clear  hours  of  morn, 

And,  while  the  world  around  lies  overwhelmed 

In  idle  darkness,  am  alive  to  thoughts 

Of  honourable  Fame,  of  Truth  divine  55 

Or  Moral,  and  of  MINDS  TO  VIRTUE  WON 

By  the  SWEET  MAGIC  OF  HARMONIOUS  VERSE  ; 

The  themes  which  now  expect  us.     For  thus  far 

On  general  habits,  and  on  arts  which  grow 

Spontaneous  in  the  minds  of  all  mankind,  60 

Hath  dwelt  our  argument ;  and  how  self-taught, 

Though  seldom  conscious  of  their  own  employ, 

In  Nature's  or  in  Fortune's  changeful  scene 

Men  learn  to  judge  of  BEAUTY,  and  acquire 

Those  forms  set  up,  as  idols  in  the  soul  65 

For  love  and  zealous  praise.     Yet  indistinct, 

In  vulgar  bosoms,  and  unnoticed  lie 

These  pleasing  stores,  unless  the  casual  force 

Of  things  external  prompt  the  heedless  mind 

To  recognize  her  wealth.     But  some  there  are  70 

Conscious  of  nature,  and  the  rule  which  man 

O'er  nature  holds  :  some  who,  within  themselves 

Retiring  from  the  trivial  scenes  of  chance 

And  momentary  passion,  can  at  will 

Call  up  these  fair  exemplars  of  the  mind  ;  75 

Review  their  features  ;  scan  the  secret  laws 

Which  bind  them  to  each  other  :  and  display 

By  FORMS,  or  SOUNDS,  or  COLOURS,  to  the  sense 

Of  all  the  world  their  latent  charms  display  : 

Even  as  in  NATURE'S  frame  (if  such  a  word,  80 

If  such  a  word,  so  bold,  may  from  the  lips 


IMAGINATION.        B.  IV.  159 

Of  man  proceed)  as  in  this  outward  frame 

Of  things,  the  great  ARTIFICER  pourtrays 

His  own  immense  idea.     Various  names 

These  among  mortals  bear,  as  various  signs  85 

They  use,  and  by  peculiar  organs  speak 

To  human  sense.     There  are  who  by  the  flight 

Of  air  through  tubes  with  moving  stops  distinct, 

Or  by  extended  chords,  in  measure  taught 

To  vibrate,  can  assemble  powerful  sounds  90 

Expressing  every  temper  of  the  mind 

From  every  cause,  and  charming  all  the  soul 

With  passion  void  of  care.     Others  mean  time 

The  rugged  mass  of  metal,  wood,  or  stone 

Patiently  taming;  or  with  easier  hand  95 

Describing  lines,  and  with  more  ample  scope 

Uniting  colours  ;  can  to  general  sight 

Produce  those  permanent  and  perfect  forms, 

Those  characters  of  heroes  and  of  gods, 

Which  from  the  crude  materials  of  the  world  100 

Their  own  high  minds  created.     But  the  chief 

Are  POETS  ;  eloquent  men,  who  dwell  on  earth 

To  clothe  whatever  the  soul  admires  or  loves 

With  LANGUAGE  and  with  NUMBERS.     Hence  to  these 

A  field  is  opened  wide  as  nature's  sphere ;  105 

Nay,  wider  :  various  as  the  sudden  acts 

Of  human  wit,  and  vast  as  the  demands 

Of  human  will.     The  BARD  nor  length,  nor  depth, 

Nor  place,  nor  form  controls.     To  eyes,  to  ears, 

To  every  organ  of  the  copious  mind,  1 10 

He  oftereth  all  his  treasures.     Him  the  hours, 

The  seasons  him  obey  :  and  changeful  Time 

Sees  him  at  will  keep  measure  with  his  flight, 


160  THE  PLEASURES   &c. 

At  will  outstrip  it.     To  enhance  his  toil, 

He  summoneth,  from  the  uttermost  extent  115 

Of  things  which  GOD  hath  taught  him,  every  form 

Auxiliar,  every  power ;  and  all  beside 

Excludes  imperious.     His  prevailing  hand 

Gives,  to  corporeal  essence,  life  and  sense 

And  every  stately  function  of  the  SOUL.  120 

The  SOUL  itself  to  him  obsequious  lies, 

Like  MATTER'S  passive  heap ;  and  as  he  wills, 

To  reason  and  affection  he  assigns 

o 

Their  just  alliances,  their  just  degrees  : 

Whence  his  peculiar  honours  ;  whence  the  race        125 

Of  men  who  people  his  delightful  world, 

Men  genuine  and  according  to  themselves, 

Transcend  as  far  the  uncertain  sons  of  earth, 

As  earth  itself  to  HIS  delightful  world 

The  palm  of  spotless  BEAUTY  doth  resign. 


HYMN 


NAIADS. 


MDCCXLVL 

ARGUMENT. 

The  Nymphs,  who  preside  over  springs  and  rivulets,  are  addressed 
at  day-break,  in  honour  of  their  several  functions,  and  of  the 
relations  which  they  hear  to  the  natural  and  to  the  moral  wcrld. 
Their  origin  is  deduced  from  the  first  allegorical  deities,  or  powers 
f>f  nature^  according  to  the  doctrine  of  the  old  mythological  poets, 
concerning  the  generation  of  the  gods  and  the  rise  of  things.  They 
are  then  successively  considered,  as  giving  motion  to  the  air  and 
exciting  s mnmer- breezes  j  as  nourishing  and  beautifying  the  ve- 
getable creation;  as  contributing  to  the  fulness  of  navigable  rivers 
arid  consequently  to  the  maintenance  of  commerce  ;  and  by  that 
means,  to  the  maritime  part  of  military  power.  Next  is  repre- 
sented their  favourable  influence  upon  health,  when  assisted  by 
rural  exercise :  which  introduces  their  connection  with  the  art 
of  physic,  and  the  happy  effects  of  mineral  medicinal  springs,. 
Lastly  they  are  celebrated  for  the  friendship  which  the  Muses 
bear  them,  and  for  the  true  inspiration  which  temperance  only 
can  receive :  in  opposition  to  the  enthusiasm  of  -the  more  licen- 
tious poets. 

vJ'ER  yonder  eastern  hill  the  twilight  pale 
Walks  forth  from  darkness  ;  and  the  God  of  day, 
With  bright  Astraea  seated  by  his  side, 
Waits  yet  to  leave  the  ocean.     Tarry,  NYMPHS, 
Ye  NYMPHS,  ye  blue-eyed  progeny  of  Thames,  5 

O  2 


162  HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS, 

Who  now  the  mazes  of  this  rugged  heath 

Trace  with  your  fleeting  steps ;  who  all  night  long 

Repeat,  amid  the  cool  and  tranquil  air, 

Your  lonely  murmurs,  tarry  :  and  receive 

My  offered  lay.     To  pay  you  homage  due,  10 

I  leave  the  gates  of  sleep ;  nor  shall  my  lyre 

Too  far  into  the  splendid  hours  of  morn 

Engage  your  audience  :  my  observant  hand 

Shall  close  the  strain  ere  any  sultry  beam 

Approach  you.     To  your  subterranean  haunts  15 

Ye  then  may  timely  steal ;  to  pace  with  care 

The  humid  sands ;  to  loosen  from  the  soil 

The  bubbling  sources ;  to  direct  the  rills 

To  meet  in  wider  channels ;  or  beneath 

Some  grotto's  dripping  arch,  at  height  of  noori  20 

To  slumber,  sheltered  from  the  burning  heaven, 

Where  shall  my  song  begin,  ye  NYMPHS  ?  or  end  ?•• 
Wide  is  your  praise  and  copious — First  of  things> 
First  of  the  lonely  powers,  ere  TIME  arose, 
Were  LOVE  and  CHAOS.     LOVE,  the  sire  of  FATE;       25 
Elder  than  CHAOS.     Born  of  FATE  was  TIME, 

V.  25.         —-Love 

Elder  than  Chaos."]  Hesiod,  in  his  Tkeogony,  gives  a  different  ac- 
count, and  makes  Chaos  the  eldest  of  beings  ;  though  he  assigns  to 
Love  neither  father  nor  superior :  which  circumstance  is  particular- 
ly mentioned  by  Pha;drus>  in  Plato's  Banquet,  as  being-  observable 
not  only  in  Hesiod,  but  in  all  other  writers  both  of  verse  and  prose : 
and  on  the  same  occasion  he  cites  a  line  from  Parmenides,  in  which 
Love  is  expressly  stiled  the  eldest  of  all  the  gods.  Yet  Aristophanes, 
in  The  Birds,  affirms  that  <c  Chaos,  and  Night,  and  Erebus,  and  Tar- 
"  tarbs,  were  first;  and  that  Love  was  produced  from  an  egg,  which 
"the  sable-winged  night  deposited  in  the  immense  bosom  of  Ere- 
"  bus."  But  it  must  be  observed,  that  the  Love  designed  by  this 
comic  poet  was  always  distinguished  from  the  other,  from  that  ori- 
ginal and  self-existent  being  the  TO  ON  or  AFA6ON  of  Plato,  and 
meant  only  the  AHMIOYPFOS  or  second  person  of  the  old  Gre- 
cian trinity  5  to  whom  is  inscribed  a  hymn  among  those  which 


HYMN   TO    THE    NAIADS.  163 

Who  many  sons  and  many  comely  births 
Devour'd,  relentless  father  :  "till  the  child 

pass  under  the  name  of  Orpheus,  where  he  is  called  Protogonos,  or 
the  first-begotten,  is  said  to  have  been  born  of  an  egg,  and  is  rep- 
resented as  the  principal  or  origin  of  all  these  external  appearances 
of  nature.  In  the  fragments  of  Orpheus,  collected  by  Henry  Ste- 
phens, he  is  named  Phanes,  the  discoverer  or  discloser;  who  unfold- 
ed the  ideas  of  the  supreme  intelligence,  and  exposed  them  to  the 
perception  of  inferior  beings  in  this  visible  frame  of  the  world ;  as 
MacrobiiiSy  and  Proclits,  and  Athenagoras  all  agree  to  interpret  the 
several  passages  of  Orpheus  which  they  have  preserved. 

But  the  Love  designed  in  our  text,  is  the  one  self-existent  and 
infinite  mind,  whom  if  the  generality  of  ancient  mythologists  have 
not  introduced  or  truly  described  in  accounting  for  the  production 
of  the  world  and  its  appearances ;  yet,  to  a  modern  poet,  it  can  be 
no  objection  that  he  hath  ventured  to  differ  from  them  in  this  par- 
ticular; though,  in  other  respects,  he  professeth  to  imitate  their 
manner  and  conform  to  their  opinions.  For,  in  these  great  points 
of  natural  theology,  they  differ  no  less  remarkably  among  them- 
selves ;  and  are  perpetually  confounding  the  philosophical  relations 
of  things  with  the  traditionary  circumstances  of  mythic  history ; 
upon  which  very  account,  Callimachus,  in  his  hymn  to  Jupiter,  de- 
clareth  his  dissent  from  them  concerning  even  an  article  of  the  na- 
tional creed  •  adding,  that  the  ancient  bards  were  by  no  means  to 
be  depended  on.  And  yet  in  the  exordium  of  the  old  Argonautic 
poem,  ascribed  to  Orpheus,  it  is  said,  that  "Love,  whom  mortals  in 
'Mater  times  call  Phanes,  was  the  father  of  the  eternally-begotten 
*'  Night;"  who  is  generally  represented  by  these  mythological  poets, 
as  being  herself  the  parent  of  all  things ;  arid  who,  in  the  Indigita- 
menta,  or  Orphic  Hymns,  is  said  to  be  the  same  with  Cypris,  or  Love 
itself.  Moreover,  in  the  body  of  this  Argonautic  poem,  where  the 
personated  Orpheus  introduceth  himself  singing  to  his  lyre  in  reply 
to  Chiron,  he  celebrateth  "  the  obscure  memory  of  Chaos,  and  the 
"  natures  which  it  contained  within  itself  in  a  state  of  perpetual  vi- 
"cissitude;  how  the  heaven  had  its  boundary  determined;  the  gen- 
"  eration  of  the  earth;  the  depth  of  the  ocean;  and  also  the  sapi- 
"ent  Love,  the  most  ancient,  the  self-sufficient;  with  all  the  beings 
"  which  he  produced  when  he  separated  one  thing  from  another." 
Which  noble  passage  is  more  directly  to  Aristotle's  purpose  in  the 
first  book  of  his  metaphysics  than  any  of  those  which  he  has  there 
quoted,  to  shew  that  the  ancient  poets  and  mythologists  agreed  with 
Empedocles,  Anaxagorat,  and  the  other  more  s»ber  philosophers,  in 
that  natural  anticipation  and  common  notion  of  mankind  concern- 
ing the  necessity  of  mind  and  reason  to  account  for  the  connexion, 
motion,  and  good  order  of  the  world.  For,  though  neither  this  poem, 
nor  the  hymns  which  pass  under  the  same  name,  are,  it  should  seem, 
the  work  of  the  real  Orpheus;  yet  beyond  all  question,  they  are  very 
ancient.  The  hymns,  more  particularly,  are  allowed  to  be  older 
than  the  invasion  of  Greece  by  Xerxes;  and  were  probably  a  set 


164          HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Of  RHEA  drove  him  from  the  upper  sky, 

And  quell'd  his  deadly  might.     Then  social  reign'd 

of  public  and  solemn  forms  of  devotion  :  as  appears  by  a  passage  in 
one  of  them,  which  Demosthenes  hath  almost  literally  cited  in  his 
first  oration  against  Arittogiton,  as  the  saying  of  Orpheus,  the  found- 
er of  their  most  holy  mysteries.  On  this  account,  they  are  of  high- 
er authority  than  any  other  mythological  work  now  extant,  the 
Theogony  of  Hesiod  itself  not  excepted.  The  poetry  of  them  is 
often  extremely  noble ;  and  the  mysterious  air  which  prevails  in 
them,  together  with  its  delightful  impression  upon  the  mind,  can- 
not be  better  expressed  than  in  that  remarkable  description  with 
which  they  inspired  the  German  editor  Eschenbach,  when  he  acci- 
dentally met  with  them  at  Leipslc:  "Thesaurum  me  repcrisse  cre- 
didi,  says  he,  &  profecto  thesanrum  reperi.  Incredibile  clictu  quo 
me  sacro .  horrore  afflaverint  indigitamenta  ista  deoruin :  nain  et 
tempus  ad  illorum  lectionem  eiigere  cogebar,  quod  vel  solum  hor- 
rorem  incutere  ammo  potest,  nocturnum;  cum  enim  totam  diem 
consumserim  in  contemplanjdo  urbis  splendore,  &  in  adeundis,  qui- 
bii3  scatet  urbs  ilia,  viris  doctis  j  sola  nox  restabat,  quam  Orphcv 
consecrare  potui.  In  ab}7ssum  qnendam  mysteriorum  venerandae 
antiquitatis  descendere  vidcbar,  quotiescunque  silente  mundo,  solis 
vigilantibus  astris  et  luna,  jaEAavyj^aryi  istos  bymnos  ad  manus 
sumsi." 

V.  25.  Chaos."]     The  unformed,  undigested  mass  of  Moses  and 
Plato :  which  Milton  calls 

"  The  womb  of  nature.' 9 

V.  25.  Love,  the  sire  of  Fate.}  Fate  is  the  universal  system  of 
natural  causes;  the  work  of  the  Omnipotent  Mind,  or  of  Love:  so 
Minucius  Felix :  "  Quid  enim  aliud  est  fatum,  quam  quod  de  uno- 
quoque  nostrum  deus  fatus  est."  So  also  Cicero,  in  The  Jirst  Book 
on  Divination:  "Fatum  autem  id  appello,  quod  Graci  EIPMAP- 
MENHNJ  id  est,  ordinem  seriemque  causarum,  cum  causa  causae 
nexa  rem  ex  se  gignat — ex  quo  intelli$ituiy  ut  fatum  sit  non  id  quod 
superstitiose,  sed  id  quod  physice  dicitur  causa  aeterna  rerum."  To 
the  same  purpose  is  the  doctrine  of  Hierocles,  in  that  excellent  frag- 
ment concerning  Providence  and  Destiny.  As  to  the  three  Fates, 
or  Destinies  of  the  poets,  they  represented  that  part  of  the  general 
system  of  natural  causes  which  relates  to  man,  and  to  other  mortal 
beings:  for  so  we  are  told  in  the  hymn  addressed  to  them  among 
the  Orphic  Indigitamenta,  where  they  are  called  the  daughters  of 
Night  (or  Love),  and,  contrary  to  the  vulgar  notion,  are  distinguish- 
ed by  the  epithets  of  gentle,  and  tender-hearted.  According  to  Hes- 
iod, Theog.  ver.  904,  they  were  the  daughters  of  Jupiter  sad  Themis: 
but  in  the  Orphic  Hymn  to  Venus,  or  Love,  that  Goddess  is  directly 
stiled  the  mother  of  Necessity,  and  is  represented,  immediately 
after,  as  governing  the  three  Destinies,  and  conducting  the  whole 
system  of  natural  causes. 
"  V.  2G.  Born  of  Fate  was  Time.']  Cronos,  Saturn,  or  Time,  was, 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  165 

The  kindred  powers,  TETHYS,  and  reverend  OPS,         3 1 

And  spotless  VESTA;  while  supreme  of  sway 

Remained  the  CLOUD-COMPELLER.     From  the  couch 

Of  TETHYS  sprang  the  sedgy-crowned  race, 

Who  from  a  thousand  urns,  o'er  every  clime,  35 

Send  tribute  to  their  parent;  and  from  them 

Are  ye,  O  NAIADS  :  ARETHUSA  fair, 

according  to  Apolloclorus,  the  son  of  Ctplwm  and  Tellus.  But  the 
author  of  the  hymns  gives  it  quite  undisguised  by  mythological  lan- 
guage, and  calls  him  plainly  the  offspring  of  the  earth  and  the  star- 
ry heaven;  that  is,  of  Fate,  as  explained  in  the  preceding  note. 

V.  27.  Who  many  sons  devour'd.]  The  knonin  fable  of  Saturn 
devouring  his  children  was  certainly  meant  to  imply  the  dissolution 
of  natural  bodies;  which  are  produced  and  destroyed  by  Time. 

V.  29.   The  child  of  Rhea.  ]  Jupiter,  so  called  by  Pindar. 

V.  29.  Drove  him  from  the  upper  sky.~^.  That  Jupiter  dethroned 
his  father  Saturn,  is  recorded  by  all  the  mythologists.  Phurnu- 
tus,  or  Cornutus,  the  author  of  a  little  Greek  treatise,  on  the  nature 
of  the  gods,  informs  us,  that  by  Jupiter  was  meant  the  vegetable  soul 
of  the  world,  which  restrained  and  prevented  those  uncertain  altera- 
tions which  Saturn,  or  Time,  used  formerly  to  cause  in  the  mun* 
dane  system. 

V.  30.  Then  social  reign'd.']  Our  mythology  here  snpposeth,  that 
before  the  establishment  of  the  vital,  vegetative,  plastic  nature  (re- 
presented by  Jupiter J,  the  four  elements  were  in  a  variable  and 
unsettled  condition  ;  but  afterwards,  well-disposed  and  at  peace 
among  themselves,  tfethys  was  the  wife  of  the  Ocean  ;  Ops,  or  Rhea, 
the  Earth ;  Vesta,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Saturn,  Fire ;  and  the 
cloud-compeller,  or  ZEUS  vs^sAiry^mj,-,  the  Air :  though  he  also  rep- 
resented the  plastic  principle  of  nature,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Or- 
phic  hymn  inscribed  to  him. 

V.  34.  The  sedgy-crowned  race."]  The  river-gods;  who,  accor- 
ding to  Hesiod's  Theogony,  were  the  sons  of  Oceanus  and  Tethys. 

V.  36,  37.  From  them,  are  ye,  O  Naiads. ~\  The  descent  of  the  Nai- 
ads is  less  certain  than  most  points  of  the  Greek  mythology.  Homer, 
Odyss.  xiii.  xSpow  Atoj.  Virgil  in  fhe  Eighth  Book  of  the  JEneid, 
speaks  as  if  the  Nymphs,  or  Naiads,  were  the  parents  of  the  rivers  : 
but  in  this  he  contradicts  the  testimony  of  Hesiod,  and  evidently 
departs  from  the  orthodox  system,  which  representeth  several 
nymphs  as  pertaining  to  every  single  river.  On  the  other  hand,  Cat- 
limachus,  who  was  very  learned  in  all  the  school-divinity  of  those 
times,  in  his  hymn  to  Delos,  maketh  Peneus,  the  great  fhessalian 
river-god,  the  father  of  his  nymphs :  and  Ovid>  in  The  Fourteenth. 
Book  of  his  Metamorphoses,  mentions  the  Naiads  of  Latium  as  the 
immediate  daughters  of  the  neighbouring  river-gods.  Accordingly, 
the  Naiads  of  particular  rivers  are  occasionally,  both  by  0  yid  and 


160          HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

And  tuneful  AGANIPPE  ;  that  sweet  name, 

BANDUSIA  ;  that  soft  family  which  dwelt 

With  Syrian  DAPHNE  ;  and  the  honoured  tribes  40 

Beloved  of  PJEON.     Listen  to  my  strain, 

Daughters  of  TETHYS  :  listen  to  your  praise. 

You,  NYMPHS  !  the  WINGED  OFFSPRING,  which  of  old 
AURORA  to  divine  ASTRSSUS  bore,  -, 

Owns,  and  your  aid  beseecheth.     When  the  might 
Of  HYPERI'ON,  from  his  noontide  throne,  46 

Unbends  their  languid  pinions,  aid  from  you 
They  ask :  FAVONIUS  and  the  mild  SOUTH-WEST 
From  you  relief  implore.     Your  sallying  streams 
Fresh  vigour  to  their  weary  wings  impart.  50 

Again  they  fly,  disporting ;  from  the  mead 
Half  ripen'd  and  the  tender  blades  of  corn, 
To  sweep  the  noxious  mildew  ;  or  dispel 
Contagious  steams,  which  oft  the  parched  earth 
Breathes  on  her  fainting  sons.     From  noon  to  eve,    55 
Along  the  river  and  the  paved  brook, 

Statins,  called  by  a  patronymic,  from  the  name  of  the  river  to  which 
they  belong. 

V.  40.  Syrian  Daphne."]  The  grove  of  Daphne  in  Syria  near  An- 
tioch,  was  famous  for  its  delightful  fountains. 

V.  40,  41.  7 he  tribes  beloved  by  Per  on.  Mineral  and  medicinal 
springs.  Pcron  was  the  physician  of  the  gods. 

V.  43.  The  winded  offspring.']  The  Winds;  who,  according  to 
Hesiod  and  Apollodorus,  were  the  sons  of  Asirerus  and  Aurora. 

V,  46.  Hyperion.]  A  son  of  Ccelum  and  Tellus,  and  father  of  the 
Sun,  who  is  thence  called,  by  Pindar,  Hyperionides.  But  Hyperion 
is  put  by  Homer  in  the  same  manner  as  here,  for  the  Sun  himself. 

V.  49.  Your  sallying  streams.']  The  state  of  the  atmosphere  with 
respect  to  rest  and  motion  is,  in  several  ways,  affected  by  rivers  and 
running  streams;  and  that  more  especially  in  hot  seasons :  first, 
they  destroy  its  equilibrium,  by  cooling  those  parts  of  it  with  which 
they  are  in  contact;  and  secondly,  they  communicate  their  own 
motion  ;  arid  the  air  which  is  thus  moved  by  them,  being  left  heat- 
ed, is  of  consequence  more  elastic  than  other  parts  of  the  atmos- 
phere, and  therefore  fitter  to  preserve  and  to  propogate  that  motion. 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  167 

Ascend  the  cheerful  breezes  :  hail'd  of  bards 

Who,  fast  by  learned  Cam,  the  jEolian  lyre 

Solicit ;  nor  unwelcome  to  the  youth 

Who  on  the  heights  of  Tibur,  all  inclined  60 

O'er  rushing  Anio,  with  a  pious  hand 

The  reverend  scene  delineates,  broken  fanes, 

Or  tombs,  or  pillar'd  aqueducts,  the  pomp 

Of  ancient  Time  ;  and  haply,  while  he  scans 

The  ruins,  with  a  silent  tear  revolves  65 

The  fame  and  fortune  of  imperious  Rome. 

You  too,  O  NYMPHS,  arid  your  unenvious  aid 
The  rural  powers  confess  ;  and  still  prepare 
For  you  their  choicest  treasures.     PAN  commands, 
Oft  as  the  DELIAN  KING  with  SIRIUS  holds  70 

The  central  heavens,  the  father  of  the  grove 
Commands  his  DRYADS  over  your  abodes 
To  spread  their  deepest  umbrage.     Well  the  god 
Remembereth  how  indulgent  ye  supplied 
Your  genial  dews  to  nurse  them  in  their  prime.          75 

PALES,  the  pasture's  queen,  where'er  ye  stray, 
Pursues  your  steps,  delighted  ;  and  the  path 
With  living  verdure  clothes.     Around  your  haunts 
The  laughing  CHLORIS,  with  profusest  hand, 
Throws  wide  her  blooms,  her  odours.     Still  with  you 
POMONA  seeks  to  dwell :  and  o'er  the  lawns,  8 1 

And  o'er  the  vale  of  Richmond,  where  with  Thames 
Ye  love  to  wander,  AMALTHEA  pours 

V.  70.  Delian  king.']  One  of  the  epithets  of  Apollo,  or  the  Sun, 
in  the  Orphic  hymn  inscribed  to  him. 

V.  79.  C/i(oris.~]     The  ancient  Greek  name  for  Flora. 

V.  83.  Amalthea.'}  The  mother  of  the  first  Bacchus,  whose  birth 
and  education  was  written,  as  Diodorus  Siculus  informs  us,  in  the 
old  Pelasgic  character,  by  Thymcetes,  grandson  to  Laomedon,  and 
contemporary  with  Orpheus.  Thymcetes  had  travelled  over  Libya  to 


1<38          HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS, 

Well-pleas'4  the  wealth  of  that  Ammonian  horn, 

Her  dower;  unmindful  of  the  fragrant  isles  85 

Nysaean  or  Atlantic.     Nor  can'st  thou, 

(Albeit  oft  ungrateful,  thou  dost  mock 

The  beverage  of  the  sober  NAIAD'S  urn, 

0  BROMIUS,  O  LEN.EAN)  nor  can'st  thou 

Disown  the  powers  whose  bounty,  ill  repai  d,  90 

With  nectar  feeds  thy  tendrils.     Yet  from  me, 
Yet,  blameless  NYMPHS,  from  my  delighted  lyre, 
Accept  the  rites  your  bounty  well  may  claim ; 
Nor  heed  the  scoffmgs  of  the  EDONIAN  band. 

For  better  praise  awaits  you.     Thames,  your  sire, 
As  down  the  verdant  slope  your  duteous  rills  96 

Descend ;  the  tribute  stately  Thames  receives, 
Delighted  ;  and  your  piety  applauds ; 
And  bids  his  copious  tide  roll  on  secure, 

the  country  which  borders  on  the  western  ocean ;  there  he  saw  the 
island  of  Nysa,  and  learned  from  the  inhabitants,  that  "  Ammont 
4  king  of  Libya,  was  married  in  former  ages  to  Rhea  sister  of  Saturn 

1  and  the  Titans :  that  he  afterwards  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful 
4  virgin  whose  name  was  Amalthca  j   had  by  her  a  son,  and  gave  her 
(  possession  of  a  neighbouring  tract  of  land,  wonderfully  fertile  ; 
'  which  in  shape  nearly  resembling-  the  horn  of  an  ox,  was  thence 
c  called  the  Hesperian  horn,  and  afterwards  the  horn  of  Amalthea  : 
'  that  fearing  the  jealousy  of  Rhea,  he  concealed  the  young  Bac- 
1  ckus,  with  his  mother,  in  the  island  of  Nysa;"  the  beauty  of  which, 

Diodorus  describes  with  great  dignity  and  pomp  of  style.  This  fable 
is  one  of  the  noblest  in  all  the  ancient  mythology,  and  seems  to 
have  made  a  particular  impression  on  the  imagination  of  Millon  $ 
the  only  modern  poet  (unless  perhaps  it  be  necessary  to  except 
Spenter}  who,  in  these  mysterious  traditions  of  the  poetic  story,  had 
a  heart  to  feel,  and  words  to  express,  the  simple  and  solitary  genius 
of  antiquity.  To  raise  the  idea  of  his  Paradise,  he  prefers  it  even  to 

•  "  that  \ysean  isle 

Girt  by  the  river  Triten,  where  old  Cham, 
(Whom  Gentiles  Ammon  call,  and  Libyan  Jove) 
Hid  Amalthea  j  and  her  florid  son, 
Young  Bacchus,  from  his  tepdame  Rhetfs  eye." 
V.  94.  Edomian  tec/.]     The  priestesses  and  other  ministers  of 
Bacchus;  so  called  from  Edonus,  a  mountain  of  Thrace,  where  his 
rites  were  celebrated. 


HYMN   TO   THE    NAIADS.  169 

For  faithful  are  his  daughters  ;  and  with  words         100 

Ausp.cious  gratuiates  the  bark  which,  now 

Hi,  hanks  forsaking,  her  adventurous  wings 

Yields  to  the  breeze,  'with  Albion's  happy  gift^ 

Extremest  isles  to  bless.     And  oft  at  morn, 

When  HERMES,  from  Olympus  bent,  o'er  earth          105 

To  bear  the  words  of  JOVE,  on  yonder  hill 

Stoops  lightly-sailing  ;  oil,  intent  your  springs 

He  views  :  and  waving  o'er  some  new-born  stream 

His  blest  pacific  wand,  "  And  yet,"  he  cries, 

"  Yet/'  cries  the  son  of  MAIA,  "  though  recluse        1  10 

"  And  silent  be  your  stores,  from  you,  fair  NYMPHS, 

"  Flows  wealth  and  kind  society  to  men. 

"  By  you  my  function  and  my  honoured  name 

"  Do  I  possess  ;  while  o'er  the  Boetic  vale, 

e:  Or  through  the  towers  of  Memphis,  or  the  palms 

"  By  sacred  Ganges  water  'd,  I  conduct  116 

"  The  English  merchant  :  with  the  buxoni  fleece 

"  Of  fertile  Ariconium  while  I  clothe 

*'  Sarmatian  kings;  or  to  the  household  gods 

"  Of  Syria,  from  the  bleak  Cornubian  shore,  120 

"  Dispense  the  mineral  treasure  which  of  old 

"  Sidonian  pilots  sought,  when  this  fair  land 

"  Was  yet  unconscious  of  those  generous  arts 

"  Which  wise  Phoenicia  from  their  native  clime 

"  Transplanted  to  a  more  indulgent  heaven/'  125 

V.  105.  When  Hermes.']  Hermes,  or  Mercury,  was  the  patron 
of  commerce;  in  which  benevolent  character  he  is  addressed  by  the 
author  of  the  Indi  git  amenta  t  in  these  beautiful  lines  : 


. 

V.  121.Dllpe*M  the  mineral  treasure.}  The  merchants  of  Sidon  and 
fyre  made  frequent  voyages  to  the  co:  st  of  Cornwall,  from  whence 
they  carried  home  great  quantities  of  tin. 


170          HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS. 

Such  are  the  words  of  HERMES  :  such  the  praise, 
O  NAIADS,  which  from  tongues  celestial  waits 
Your  bounteous  deeds.     From  bounty  issueth  power : 
And  those  who,  sedulous  in  prudent  works, 
Relieve  the  wants  of  Nature,  JOVE  repays  1 30 

With  noble  wealth,  and  his  own  seat  on  earth, 
Fit  judgments  to  pronounce,  and  curb  the  might 
Of  wicked  men.     Your  kind  unfailing  urns 
Not  vainly  to  the  hospitable  arts 
Of  HERMES  yield  their  store.     For,  O  ye  NYMPHS, 
Hath  he  not  won  the  unconquerable  queen  136 

Of  arms  to  court  your  friendship  ?     You  she  owns 
The  fair  associates  who  extend  her  sway 
Wide  o'er  the  mighty  deep ;  and  grateful  things 
Of  you  she  uttereth,  oft  as  from  the  shore  1 40 

Of  Thames,  or  Medway's  vale,  or  the  green  banks 
Of  Vecta,  she  her  thundering  navy  leads 
To  Calpe's  foaming  channel,  or  the  rough 
Cantabrian  surge  ;  her  auspices  divine 
Imparting  to  the  senate  and  the  prince  145 

Of  Albion,  to  dismay  barbaric  kings, 
The  Iberian  or  the  Gelt.     The  pride  of  kings 
Was  ever  scornM  by  PALLAS  :  and  old 
Rejoiced  the  virgin,  from  the  brazen  prow 
Of  Athens  o'er  .ZEgina's  gloomy  surge,  150 

V.  136.  Hath  he  not  won."]  Mercury,  the  patron  of  commerce, 
being  so  greatly  dependent  on  the  go<  d  offices  of  the  Naiads,  in  re- 
turn obtains  for  them  the  friendship  of  Minerva,  the  goddess  of 
war  :  for  military  power,  at  least  the  naval  part  of  it,  hath  constant- 
ly followed  the  establishment  of  trade;  which  exemplifies  the  pre- 
ceding observation,  that  "  from  bounty  issueth  power." 

V.  143.  144.  Calpe—  Cantabrian  surge."]  Gibralter  and  the  Bay  of 
Bisc  ay. 

V.150.  JEgina's  gloomy  surge.]  Near  this  island,  the  Athenians 
obtained  the  victory  of  Salamis,  over  the  Persian  navy. 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  171 

To  drive  her  clouds  and  storms  :  overwhelming  all 
The  Persian's  promised  glory,  when  the  realms 
Of  Indus  and  the  soft  Ionian  clime, 
When  Libya's  torrid  champain  and  the  rocks 
Of  cold  Imaiis  join'd  their  servile  hands,  155 

To  sweep  the  sons  of  liberty  from  earth. 
In  vain  :  MINERVA  on  the  bounding  prow 
Of  Athens  stood,  and  with  the  thunder's  voice 
Denounced  her  terrors  on  their  impious  heads, 
And  shook  her  burning  aegis.     XERXES  saw  :  160 

From  Heracleum,  on  the  mountain's  height, 
Throned  in  his  golden  car,  he  knew  the  sign 
Celestial ;  felt  unrighteous  hope  forsake 
His  faltering  heart,  and  turn'd  his  face  with  shame. 
Hail,  ye  who  share  the  stern  MINERVA'S  power ; 
Who  arm  the  hand  of  liberty  for  war  :  166 

Arid  give  to  the  renown'd  Britannic  name 
To  awe  contending  monarchs  :  yet  benign, 
Yet  mild  of  nature  :  to  the  works  of  peace 
More  prone,  and  lenient  of  the  many  ills  170 

Which  wait  on  human  life.     Your  gentle  aid 
HYGEIA  well  can  witness ;  she  who  saves, 
From  poisonous  cates  and  cups  of  pleasing  bane, 
The  wretch  devoted  to  the  intangling  snares 
Of  BACCHUS  and  of  COMUS.     Him  she  leads  175 

To  CYNTHIA'S  lonely  haunts.     To  spread  the  toils  ; 
To  beat  the  coverts  ;  with  the  jovial  horn    ' 
At  dawn  of  day  to  summon  the  loud  hounds ; 
She  calls  the  lingering  sluggard  from  his  dreams  : 

V.  160.  Xerxes  saw.']  This  circumstance  is  recorded  in  that  pas- 
sage, perhaps  the  most  splendid  among  all  the  remains  of  ancient 
history,  where  Plutarch,  in  his  Life  of  Tkemistocles,  describes  the 
sea-fights  of  Artemmum  and  Salamis. 


172          HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS. 

And  where  his  breast  may  drink  the  mountain  breeze, 

And  where  the  fervor  of  the  sunny  vale  1 8 1 

May  beat  upon  his  brow,  through  devious  paths 

Beckons  his  rapid  courser.     Nor  when  ease, 

Cool  ease  and  welcome  slumbers  have  becalmM 

His  eager  bosom,  does  the  queen  of  health  185 

Her  pleasing  care  withhold.     His  decent  board 

She  guards,  presiding ;  and  the  frugal  powers 

With  joy  sedate  leads  in  :  and  while  the  brown 

ENN/BAN  dame,  with  PAN  presents  her  stores ; 

While  changing  still,  and  comely  in  the  change,      190 

VERTUMNUS  and  the  HOURS  before  him  spread 

The  garden's  banquet ;  you  to  crown  his  feast, 

To  crown  his  feast,  O  NAIADS  !  you  the  fair 

HYGEIA  calls  :  and  from  your  shelving  seats, 

And  groves  of  poplar,  plenteous  cups  ye  bring,         195 

To  slake  his  veins  :  till  soon  a  purer  tide 

Flows  down  those  loaded  channels;  washeth  off 

The  dregs  of  luxury,  the  lurking  seeds 

Of  crude  disease  ;  and  through  the  abodes  of  life 

Sends  vigour,  sends  repose.     Hail !  NAIADS  :   hail ! 

Who  give,  to  labour,  health  ;  to  stooping  age,  201 

The  joys  which  youth  had  squandered.     Oft  your  urns 

Will  I  invoke  ;  and  frequent  in  your  praise, 

Abash  the  frantic  THYRSUS  with  my  song. 

For  not  estranged  from  your  benignant  arts         205 
Is  he,  the  god,  to  whose  mysterious  shrine 
My  youth  was  sacred,  and  my  votive  cares 
Belong;  the  learned  P^EON.     Oft,  when  all 
His  cordial  treasures  he  hath  searched  in  vain  ; 

V.  204.  Thyrsus."]  A  staff,  or  spear,  wreathed  round  with  ivy : 
of  constant  use  in  the  bacchanalian  mysteries. 


HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS.,          173 

When  herbs,  and  potent  trees,  and  drops  of  balm, 

Rich  with  the  genial  influence  of  the  sun  ;  21 1 

To  rouse  dark  fancy  from  her  plaintive  dreams, 

To  brace  the  nerveless  arm,  with  food  to  win 

Sick  appetite,  or  hush  the  unquiet  breast 

Which  pines  with  silent  passion,  he  in  vain  215 

Hath  proved;  to  your  deep  mansions  he  descends; 

Your  gates  of  humid  rock,  your  dim  arcades, 

He  eritereth;  where  impurpled  veins  of  ore 

Gleam  on  the  roof;  where  through  the  rigid  mine 

Your  trickling  rills  insinuate.     There  the  god,          220 

From  your  indulgent  hands  the  streaming  bowl 

Wafts  to  his  pale-eyed  suppliants  ;  wafts  the  seeds 

Metallic  and  the  elemental  salts, 

Wash'd  from  the  pregnant  glebe.  They  drink:  and  soon 

Flies  pain  ;  flies  inauspicious  care  :  and  soon  225 

The  social  haunt  or  unfrequented  shade 

Hears  lo,  lo  PJEAN  ;  as  of  old, 

When  PYTHON  fell.     And,  O  propitious  NYMPHS  ! 

Oft  as  for  hapless  mortals  I  implore 

Your  salutary  springs,  through  every  urn  230 

Oh  shed  your  healing  treasures.     With  the  first 

And  iiuest  breath,  which  from  the  genial  strife 

Of  mineral  fermentation  springs,  like  light 

O'er  the  fresh  morning's  vapours ;  lustrate  then 

The  fountain,  and  inform  the  rising  wave.  235 

My  l^re  shall  pay  your  bounty.     Scorn  not  ye 
That  humble  tribute.     Though  a  mortal  hand 
Excite  the  strings  to  utterance,  yet  for  themes 
Not  unregarded  of  celestial  powers, 

V.   227.   lo,  Pcfan.']     £n  exclamation  of  victory  and  triumph, 
denvfcd  from  Apollo's  encounter  with  Python. 

P  2 


174  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS- 

I  frame  their  language  ;  and  the  MUSES  deign  24-Gf 

To  guide  the  pious  tenor  of  my  lay. 

The  Muses  (sacred  by  their  gifts  divine) 

In  early  days  did  to  my  wondering  sense 

Their  secrets  oft  reveal ;  oft  my  raised  ear 

In  slumber  felt  their  music  :  oft,  at  noon  245 

Or  hour  of  sunset,  by  seme  lonely  stream, 

In  field  or  shady  grove,  they  taught  me  words 

Of  power  from  death  and  envy  to  preserve 

The  good  man's  name.  Whence  yet  with  grateful  mind 

And  offerings  unprofaned  by  ruder  eye,  250 

My  vows  I  send,  my  homage,  to  the  seats 

Of  rocky  Cirrha,  where  with  you  they  dwell : 

Where  you,  their  chaste  companions,  they  admit 

Through  all  the  hailow'd  scene  :  where  oft  intent, 

And  leaning  o'er  Castalia's  mossy  verge,  255 

They  mark  the  cadence  of  your  confluent  urns, 

How  tuneful !  yielding  gratefullest  repose 

To  their  consorted  measure  :  'till  again, 

With  emulation  all  the  sounding  choir, 

And  bright  Apollo,  leader  of  the  song,  260 

Their  voices  through  the  liquid  air  exalt, 

And  sweep  their  lofty  strings  :  those  powerful  strings 

That  charm  the  mind  of  gods  :  that  fill  the  courts 

Of  wide  Olympus  with  oblivion  sweet 

Of  evils,  with  immortal  rest  from  cares;  -265 

Assuage  the  terrors  of  the  throne  of  JOVE  ; 

V.  352.  Cirrha.']  One  of  the  summits  of  Parnassus,  and  sacred 
to  Apollo.  Near  it  were  several  fountains,  said  to^be  frequented  by 
the  Muses.  Nysa,  the  other  eminence  of  the  same  mountain,  was 
dedicated  to  Bacchus. 

V.  263.  Charm  the  mind  of  gods. ~]  This  whole  passage,  concern- 
ing the  effects  of  sacred  music  among  the  gods,  is  taken  from  Pin- 
dar's first  Pythian  ode. 


HYMN  TO  THE  NAIADS.        175 

And  quench  the  formidable  thunderbolt 
Of  unrelenting  fire.     With  slackened  wings, 
While  now  the  solemn  concert  breathes  around, 
Incumbent  o'er  the  sceptre  of  his  lord  27 O 

Sleeps  the  stern  eagle ;  by  the  numbered  notes, 
Possess VI ;  and  satiate  with  the  melting  tone  : 
Sovereign  of  birds.     The  furious  god  of  war, 
His  darts  forgetting,  and  the  winged  wheels 
That  bear  him  vengeful  o'er  the  embattled  plain,      275 
Relents,  and  sooths  his  own  fierce  heart  to  ease, 
Most  welcome  ease.     The  SIRE  of  gods  and  men, 
In  that  great  moment  of  divine  delight, 
Looks  down  on  all  that  live ;  and  whatsoe'er 
He  loves  not,  o'er  the  peopled  earth  and  o'er  280 

The  interminated  ocean ;  he  beholds 
Cursed  with  abhorrence  by  his  doom  severe, 
And  troubled  at  the  sound.     Ye  NAIADS,  ye 
With  ravish'd  ears  the  melody  attend, 
Worthy  of  sacred  silence.     But  the  slaves  285 

Of  BACCHUS,  with  tempestuous  clamours  strive 
To  drown  the  heavenly  strains ;  of  highest  JOVE, 
Irreverent ;  and  by  mad  presumption  fired, 
Their  own  discordant  raptures  to  advance 
With  hostile  emulation.     Down  they  rush  290 

From  Nysa's  vine-impurpled  cliff,  the  dames 
Of  Thrace^  the  Satyrs,  and  the  unruly  Fauns, 
With  old  Silenus,  reeling  through  the  crowd 
Which  gambols  round  him,  in  convulsions  wild 
Tossing  their  limbs,  and  brandishing  in  air  295 

The  ivy-mantled  thyrsus,  or  the  torch 
Through  black  smoke  flaming,  to  the  Phrygian  pipe's 

V.   297.    Phrygian  pipe's.]     The   Phrygian  music  was  fantastic 
and  turbulent,  and  fit  to  excite  disorderly  passions. 


*76  HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS, 

Shrill  voice,  and  to  the  clashing  cymbals ;  mix'd 

With  shrieks  and  frantic  uproar.     May  the  gods 

From  every  unpolluted  ear  avert  300 

Their  orgies  !  If  within  the  seats  of  men, 

Within  the  walls,  the  gates,  where  Pallas  holds 

The  guardian  key,  if  haply  there  be  found 

Who  loves  to  mingle  with  the  revel-band 

And  hearken  to  their  accents  ;  who  aspires  305 

From  such  instructers  to  inform  his  breast 

With  verse;  let  him,  fit  votarist,  implore 

Their  inspiration.     He,  perchance,  the  gifts 

Of  young  Lyaeus,  and  the  dread  exploits, 

May  sing  in  aptest  numbers  :  he,  the  fate  310 

Of  sober  Pentheus,  he,  the  Paphian  rites, 

And  naked  Mars  with  Cytherea  chain'd, 

And  strong  Alcides  in  the  spinster's  robes, 

May  celebrate,  applauded.     But  with  you 

O  NAIADS,  far  from  that  unhallow'd  rout,  315 

Must  dwell  the  man,  whoe'er  to  praised  themes 

Invokes  the  immortal  Muse.     The  immortal  Muse 

To  your  calm  habitations,  to  the  cave 

Corycian  or  the  Delphic  mount,  will  guide 

V.  302.   The  gates  where  Pallas  holds 

The  guardian  key.~\  It  was  the  office  of  Minerva  to  be 
the  gnardian  of  walled  cities;  whence  she  was  named  HO AIAS 
and  nOAIOYXOS,  and  had  her  statues  placed  iu  their  gates, 
being  supposed  to  keep  the  keys ;  and  on  that  account  stiled 
KAHAOYXO2. 

V.  311.  Fate  of  sober  Penfheus."]  Pentheus  v  as  torn  in  pieces 
by  the  bacchanalian  priests  and  women,  for  despising  their  mysteries. 

V.  319  The  cave  Corycian.]  Of  this  cave  Pansquias,  in  his 
Tenth  Book,  gives  the  following  description  :  '•  Between  Delphi  and 
"  the  eminences  of  Pariias.ur,  is  a  road  to  the  grotto  of  ( 'crycium, 
"  which  has  its  name  from  the  nympli  Corycia,  and  is  by  far  the 
"  most  remarkable  which  1  have  seen.  One  may  walk  a  great  way 
"  into  it  without  a  torch.  'Tis  of  a  considerable  height,  and  hath 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.  177 

His  footsteps  ;  and  with  your  unsullied  streams         320 

His  lips  will  bathe  :  whether  the  eternal  lore 

Of  Themis,  or  the  majesty  of  JOVE, 

To  mortals  he  reveal ;  or  teach  his  lyre 

The  unenvied  guerdon  of  the  patriot's  toils, 

In  those  unfading  islands  of  the  bless'd,  325 

Where  sacred  Bards  abide.     Hail,  honoured  Nymphs  ! 

Thrice  hail !  For  you  the  Cyrenaic  shell 

Behold,  I  touch,  revering.     To  my  songs 

Be  present  ye,  with  favourable  feet, 

And  all  profaner  audience  far  remove.  330 

fc several  springs  within  it;  and  yet  a  much  greater  quantity  of 
"  water  distills  from  the  shell  and  roof,  so  as  to  be  continually 
"dropping  qn  the  ground.  The  people  round  Parnassus  hold  it 
"  sacred  to  the  Corycian  nymphs  and  to  Pan" 

V.  319.  Delphic  mount.]  Delphi,  the  seat  and  oracle  of  Apollo, 
had  a  mountaineous  and  rocky  situation,  on  the  skirts  of  Parnassus. 

V.  327.  Cyrenaic  skelL~\  Cyrene  \v as  the  native  country  of  Cal- 
Ivnackus,  whose  hymns  are  the  most  remarkable  example  cf  that 
mythological  passion  which  is  assumed  in  the  preceding  poem,  and 
have  always  afforded  particular  pleasure  to  the  author  of  it,  by 
reason  of  the  mysterious  solemnity  with  which  they  affect  the  mind. 
On  this  account  he  was  induced  to  attempt  Somewhat  in  the  same 
manner;  solely  by  way  of  exercise  :  the  manner  itself  being  now 
almost  entirely  abandoned  in  poetry.  And  as  the  mere  genealogy, 
or  the  personal  adventures  of  heathen  gods,  could  have  been  but 
little  interesting  to  a  modern  reader;  it  was  therefore  thought  pro- 
per to  select  some  convenient  part  of  the  history  of  nature,  and  to 
employ  these  ancient  divinities  as  it  is  probable  they  were  first  em- 
ployed; to  wit,  in  personifying  natural  causes,  and  in  representing 
the  mutual  agreement  or  opposition  of  the  corporeal  and  moral  pow- 
ers of  the  world;  which  hath  been  accounted  the  very  highest  office 
of  poetry. 

HYMN    TO    SCIENCE. 

*'  O  vitaephilosophiadux!  O  virtutis  indagatrix,  expultrixq'  vitiorum. 
'<  — Tu  urbes  peperisti;  tu  inventrix  legum,  tu  magistra  morum  et 
"  discipline  fuisti :  ad  te  confugirnus,  a  te  opem  petimus." 

C1C.  fuse-  Zuerst, 

SCIENCE  !  thou  fair  effusive  ray, 
From  the  great  Source  of  mental  day, 


178  HYMN  TO   SCIENCE. 

Free,  generous,  and  refined, 
Descend  with  all  thy  treasures  fraught, 
Illumine  each  bewildered  thought, 

And  bless  my  labouring  mind.  6 

But  first  with  thy  resistless  light 
Disperse  those  phantoms  from  my  sight, 

Those  mimic  shades  of  thee, 
The  scholiast's  learning,  sophist's  cant, 
The  visionary  bigot's  rant, 

The  monk's  philosophy.  12 

O  let  thy  powerful  charms  impart 
The  patient  head,  the  candid  heart, 

Devoted  to  thy  sway, 
Which  no  weak  passions  e'er  mislead, 
Which  still  with  dauntless  steps  proceed 

Where  Reason  points  the  way  !  18 

Give  me  to  learn  each  secret  cause ; 
Let  Number's,  Figure's,  Motion's  laws 

Reveal'd  before  me  stand ; 
These  to  great  Nature's  scenes  apply, 
And  round  the  globe  and  through  the  sky 

Disclose  her  working  hand.  24 

Next,  to  thy  nobler  search  resign'd, 
The  busy,  restless,  HUMAN  MIND 

Through  every  maze  pursue  ; 
Detect  Perception,  where  it  lies, 
Catch  the  ideas  as  they  rise, 

And  all  their  changes  view.  30 

Say  from  what  simple  springs  began 
The  vast  ambitious  thoughts  of  MAN, 

Which  range  beyond  control ; 
Which  seek  eternity  to  trace, 


HYMN   TO   SCIENCE  17d 

I)ive  through  the  infinity  of  space, 

And  strain  to  grasp  the  whole  ?  36 

Her  secret  stores  let  MEMORY  tell; 
Bid  FANCY  quit  her  fairy  cell, 

In  all  her  colours  drest ; 
While  prompt,  her  sallies  to  control, 
REASON,  the  judge,  recalls  the  soul 

To  TRUTH'S  severest  test.  42 

Then  launch  through  Being's  wide  extent ; 
Let  the  fair  scale  with  just  ascent      • 

And  cautious  steps  be  trod, 
And  from  the  dead  corporeal  mass, 
Through  each  progressive  order  pass 

To  INSTINCT, — REASON,— GOD.  48 

There,  SCIENCE  !  veil  thy^  daring  eye, 
No  dive  too  deep,  nor  soar  too  high, 

In  that  divine  abyss ; 
To  FAITH,  content  thy  beams  to  lend, 
Her  hopes  to  assure,  her  steps  befriend, 

And  light  her  way  to  bliss.  54 

Then  downwards  take  thy  flight  again, 
Mix  with  the  policies  of  MEN, 

And  social  Nature's  ties  ; 
The  plan,  the  genius  of  each  state, 
Its  interest,  and  its  powers,  relate, 

Its  fortunes,  and  its  rise.  60 

Through  PRIVATE  LIFE  pursue  thy  course, 
Trace  every  action  to  its  source, 

And  means  and  motives  weigh; 
Put  tempers,  passions,  in  the  scale, 
Mark  what  degrees  in  each  prevail, 

And  fix  the  doubtful  sway.  66 


180  HYMN   TO   SCIENCE, 

That  last,  best  effort  of  thy  skill, 

To  FORM  THE  LIFE,  and  RULE  THE  WILL, 

x   «.      Propitious  Power  !  impart ; 

Teach  me  to  cool  my  passion's  fires, 
Make  me  the  judge  of  my  desires, 

The  master  of  my  heart.  72 

Raise  me  above  the  vulgar's  breath, 
Pursuit  of  fortune,  J  ear  of  death, 

And  all  in  life  that's  mean  : 
Still  true  to  REASON  be  my  plan, 
Still  let  my  actions  speak  the  MAN 

Through  every  rarious  scene.  7S 

Hail !  queen  of  Manners,  light  of  Truth  ; 
Hail !  charm  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  ; 

Sweet  refuge  of  distress ; 
In  business  thou,  exact,  polite ; 
Thou  givest  Retirement  its  delight, 

Prosperity  its  grace.  84- 

Of  wealth,  power,  freedom,  thou  the  cause ; 
Foundress  of  order,  cities,  laws ; 

Of  arts  inventress,  thou  ! 
Without  thee,  what  were  humankind  ? 
How  vast  their  wants,  their  thoughts  how  blind, 

Their  joys  how  mean  !  how  few  !  90 

SUN  OF  THE  SOUL  !  thy  beams  unveil ; 
Let  others  spread  the  daring  sail 

On  Fortune's  faithless  sea, 
While  undeluded,  happier,  I 
From  the  vain  tumult  timely  fly, 

And  sit  in  peace  with  thee.  9(3 

OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


ODES 


SEVERAL    SUBJECTS, 

IN   TWO   BOOKS. 

BOOK  THE   FIRST. 
MDCCXLIV. 
O  D  E    I. 

PREFACE. 

— Ego,  apis  Matinee 
More,  modoque*  tyc. 

HORACE.  Lib.  IV.  Ode  H. 

I. 

V/N  yonder  verdant  hilloc  laid, 
Where  oaks  and  elms,  a  friendly  shade, 

O'erJook  the  falling  stream  ; 
O  master  of  the  Latin  lyre, 
A  while  with  thee  will  I  retire 

From  summer's  noontide  beam.  6 

II. 

And,  lo,  within  my  lonely  bower, 

The  industrious  BEE  from  many  a  flower 

Collects  her  balmy  dews  : 
"  For  me/'  she  sings,  "  the  gems  are  born, 
"  For  me  their  silken  robe  adorn, 

"  Their  fragrant  breath  diffuse."  1 2 


O  D  E    I.  " 

III. 

Sweet  murmurer  J  may  no  rude  storm 

This  hospitable  scene  deform, 

Nor  check  thy  gladsome  toils ; 
Still  may  the  buds  unsullied  spring, 
Still  showers  and  sunshine  court  thy  wing 

To  these  ambrosial  spoils*  1 8 

IV. 

Nor  shall  my  MUSE  hereafter  fail 

Her  fellow-labourer  thee  to  hail ; 

And  lucky  be  the  strains  ! 
For  long  ago  did  Nature  frame 
Your  seasons  and  your  arts  the  same, 

Your  pleasures  and  your  pains.  24 

V. 
Like  thee,  in  lowly,  sylvan  scenes, 

On  river-banks  and  flowery  greens 

My  Muse  delighted  plays ; 
Nor  through  the  desart  of  the  air, 
Though  swans  or  eagles  triumph  there, 

With  fond  ambition  strays,  30 

VL 

Nor  where  the  boding  raven  chaunts, 

Nor  near  the  owl's  unhallow'd  haunts 

Will  she  her  cares  employ ; 
But  flies  from  ruins  and  from  tombs, 
From  superstition's  horrid  glooms, 

To  day -light  and  to  joy.  3& 

VII. 
Nor  will  she  tempt  the  barren  waste ; 

Nor  deign  the  lurking  strength  to  taste 
Of  any  noxious  thing ; 


BOOK   THE    FIRST.  5 

But  leaves  with  scorn  to  envy's  use 
The  insipid  nightshade's  baneful  juice, 

The  nettle's  sordid  sting.  42 

VIII. 
From  all  which  Nature  fairest  knows, 

The  vernal  blooms,  the  summer  rose, 

She  draws  her  blameless  wealth ; 
And  when  the  generous  task  is  done, 
She  consecrates  a  double  IKKHI, 

To  pleasure  and  to  health.  48 


ODE     II.     No.  I. 

FOR  THE  WINTER  SOLSTICE. 

DEC.  II,  MDCCXL.* 
I. 

JN  OW  to  the  utmost  southern  gpal 

The  Sun  has  traced  his  annual  way, 

And  backward  now  prepares  to  roll, 

And  bless  the  North  with  earlier  day. 

Prone  on  Potosi's  lofty  brow, 

Floods  of  sublimer  splendor  flow, 

Ripening  the  latent  seeds  of  gold, 

Whilst,  panting  in  the  lonely  shade, 

The  afflicted  Indian  hides  his  head, 

Nor  dares  the  blaze  of  noon  behold.  10 

*  This  Ode  was  afterwards  entirely  altered ;  as  may  be  seen  in 
the  following  poem.  The  reader  will  not  be  displeased  to  see  it  as 
it  was  originally  written, 

Aa  2 


ODE    II.    No.  1. 

IL 

But  lo !  on  this  deserted  coast, 

How  faint  the  light !  how  chill  the  air  ! 

Lo  !  arm'd  with  whirlwind,  hail,  and  frosty 

Fierce  winter  desolates  the  year. 

The  fields  resign  their  cheerful  bloom  ; 

No  more  the  breezes  breathe  perfume  ; 

No  more  the  warbling  waters  roll : 

Desarts  of  snow  fatigue  the  eye ; 

Successive  tempests  bloat  the  sky,      . 

Arid  gloomy  damps  oppress  the  soul.N  20 

III. 

But  let  my  drooping  genius  rise, 

And  hail  the  SUN'S  remotest  ray  : 
Now,  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies, 
To-morrow  nearer  than  to-day. 
Then,  louder  howl  the  stormy  waste, 
Be  land  and  ocean  worse  defaced, 
Yet  brighter  hours  are  on  the  wing, 
And  Fancy,  through  the  wintry  gloom, 
Radiant  with  dews  and  flowers  in  bloom, 
Already  hails  the  emerging  Spring.  30 

IV. 

O  fountain  of  the  golden  day  ! 

Could  mortal  vows  but  urge  thy  speed, 

How  soon,  before  thy  vernal  ray, 

Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede  ! 

How  soon  each  tempest  hovering  fly, 

That  now,  fermenting,  loads  the  sky, 

Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain, 

To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep, 

And,  thundering  o'er  the  Baltic  deep, 

To  V- helm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain  !          40 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  7 

V. 

But  let  not  man's  imperfect  views, 

Presume  to  tax  wise  Nature's  laws  : 

*Tis  his  with  silent  joy  to  use 

The  indulgence  of  the  SOVRAN  CAUSE; 

Secure  that  from  the  whole  of  things 

Beauty  and  good  consummate  springs, 

Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know, 

And  that  the  Providence  of  heaven 

Has  some  peculiar  bless^ig  given 

To  each  allotted  state  below,  50 

VI. 

Even  now  how  sweet  the  wintry  night 

Spent  with  ,the  old  illustrious  dead  ! 

While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 

I  seem  those  awful  courts  to  tread 

Where  chiefs  and  legislators  lie, 

Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye, 

With  every  laurel  fresh  display  'd  : 

While,  charm'd,  I  rove  in  classic  song, 

Or  bend  to  Freedom's  fearless  tongue, 

Or  walk  the  academic  shade.  60 


O  D  E    II,     No.  2. 

ON   THE   WINTER   SOLSTICE, 
MDCCXL. 

I. 

1  HE  radiant  ruler  of  the  year 
At  length  his  wintry  goal  attains ; 


O  D  E  II.     No.  2. 

Soon  to  reverse  the  long  career, 

And  northward  bend  his  steady  reins. 

Now,  piercing  half  Potosi's  height, 

Prone  rush  the  fiery  floods  of  light 

Ripening  the  mountain's  silver  stores  : 

While  in  some  cavern's  horrid  shade, 

The  panting  Indian  hides  his  head, 

And  oft  the  approach  of  eve  implores.  10 

II. 

But  lo,  on  this  deserted  coast 

How  pale  the  sun  !  how  thick  the  air  ! 

Mustering  his  storms,  a  sordid  host, 

Lo,  winter  desolates  the  year. 

The  fields  resign  their  latest  bloom ; 

No  more  the  breezes  waft  perfume, 

No  more  the  streams  in  music  roll : 

But  snows  fall  dark,  or  rains  resound ; 

And,  while  great  Nature  mourns  around, 

Her  griefs  infect  the  human  soul.  2$ 

III. 

Hence  the  loud  city's  busy  throngs 
Urge  the  warm  bowl  and  splendid  fire  : 
Harmonious  dances,  festive  songs, 
Against  the  spiteful  heaven  conspire. 
Meantime  perhaps  with  tender  fears 
Some  village-dame  the  curfew  hears, 
While  round  the  hearth  her  children  play  : 
At  morn  their  father  went  abroad ; 
The  moon  is  sunk  and  deep  the  road ; 
She  sighs,  and  wonders  at  his  stay,  30 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  9 

IV. 

But  thou,  my  lyre,  awake,  arise 
And  hail  the  SUN'S  returning  force  : 
Even  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies., 
And  health  and  hope  attend  his  course .. 
Then  louder  howl  the  aerial  waste, 
Be  earth  with  keener  cold  imbraced, 
Yet  gentle  hours  advance  their  wing  j 
And  Fancy,  mocking  winter's  might, 
With  flowers  and  dews  and  streaming  light 
Already  decks  the  new-born  spring.  40 

V. 

O  fountain  of  the  golden  day  1 

Could  mortal  vows  promote  thy  speed, 

How  soon  before  thy  vernal  ray 

Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede  ! 

How  soon  each  hovering  tempest  fly, 

Whose  stores  for  mlscmei  arm  the  sky, 

Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain, 

To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep, 

Or,  thundering  c/er  the  Baltic  deep, 

To  whelm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain  !  50- 

VI. 

But  let  not  man's  unequal  views 

Presume  o'er  Nature  and  her  laws  : 

*Tis  his  with  grateful  joy  to  use 

The  indulgence  of  the  SOYRAN  CAUSE; 

Secure,  that  health  and  beauty  springs 

Through  this  majestic  frame  of  things, 

Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know ; 

And  that  Heaven's  all- subduing  will, 

WTith  good  the  progeny  of  ill, 

Attempereth  every  state  below,  60 


10  ODE   II.    .  No,   2. 

VII. 

How  pleasing  wears  the  wintry  night. 

Spent  with  the  old  illustrious  dead ! 

While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 

I  seem  those  awful  scenes  to  tread 

Where  chiefs  or  legislators  lie, 

Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye 

In  arms  and  antique  pomp  array 'd ; 

While  now  I  taste  the  Ionian  song, 

Now  bend  to  PLATO'S  godlike  tongue 

Resounding  through  the  olive  shade.  70 

VIM. 
But  should  some  cheerful,  equal  friend 

Bid  leave  the  studious  page  awhile, 
Let  mirth  on  wisdom  then  attend, 
And  social  ease  on  learned  toil. 
Then  while,  at  love's  uncareful  shrine, 

Each  dictates  tu  tlic  god  of  wine 

Her  name^whom  all  his  hopes  obey,  . 
What  flattering  dreams  each  bosom  warm ! 
While  absence,  heightening  every  charm, 
Invokes  the  slow-returning  MAY.  80 

IX. 

MAY  !  thou  delight  of  heaven  and  earth, 

When  will  thy  genial  star  arise  ? 

The  auspicious  morn,  which  gives  thee  birth,  *' 

Shall  bring  EUPORA  to  my  eyes. 

Within  her  sylvan  haunt  behold, 

As  in  the  happy  garden  old, 

She  moves  like  that  primeval  fair : 

Thither,  ye  silver-sounding  lyres, 

*  Var.   When,  the  dear  place  which  gave  her  birtht 
Restore  LUCINDA  to  my  eyes  ? 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  n 

Ye  tender  smiles,  ye  chaste  desires, 

Fond  hope  and  mutual  faith,  repair.  90 

X. 

And  if  believing  love  can  read 

His  better  omens  in  her  eye, 

Then  shall  my  fears,  O  charming  maid, 

And  every  pain  of  absence  die  : 

Then  shall  my  jocund  harp,  attuned 

To  thy  true  ear,  with  sweeter  sound 

Pursue  the  free  Horatian  song : 

Old  Tyne  shall  listen  to  my  tale, 

And  echo,  down  the  bordering  vale, 

The  liquid  melody  prolong.  100 

ODE     III. 

TO  A  FRIEND,  UNSUCCESSFUL  IN  LOVE. 

I 

INDEED,  my  Phsedria,  if  to  find 

That  wealth  can  female  wishes  gain, 

Had  e'er  disturb'd  your  thoughtful  mind, 

Or  cost  one  serious  moment's  pain, 

I  should  have  said  that  all  the  rules, 

You  learn'd  of  moralists  and  schools, 

Were  very  useless,  very  vain.  7 

II. 

Yet  I  perhaps  mistake  the  case-- 
Say, though  with  this  heroic  air, 
Like  one  that  holds  a  nobler  chace, 
You  try  the  tender  loss  to  bear, 
Does  not  your  heart  renounce  your  tongue  ? 


12  ODE    III. 

Seems  not  my  censure  strangely  wrong 

To  count  it  such  a  slight  affair  ?  14 

III. 
When  Hesper  gilds  the  shaded  sky, 

Oft,  as  you  seek  the  well-known  grove, 

Methinks  I  see  you  cast  your  eye 

Back  to  the  morning  scenes  of  love  : 

Each  pleasing  word  you  heard  her  say, 

Her  gentle  look,  her  graceful  way, 

Again  your  struggling  fancy  move.  21 

IV. 

Then  tell  me,  is  your  soul  entire  ? 

Does  Wisdom  calmly  hold  her  throne  * 

Then  can  you  question  each  desire, 

Bid  this  remain,  and  that  begone  ? 

No  tear  half-starting  from  your  eye  ? 

No  kindling  blush  you  know  not  why  ? 

No  stealing  sigh,  nor  stifled  groan  ?  28 

V. 

Away  with  this  unmanly  mood ! 

See  where  the  hoary  churl  appears, 

Whose  hand  hath  seized  the  favourite  good 

Which  you  reserved  for  happier  years  : 

While,  side  by  side,  the  blushing  maid 

Shrinks  from  his  visage,  half  afraid, 

Spite  of  the  sickly  joy  she  wears.  35 

VI, 

Ye  guardian  powers  of  love  and  fame, 

This  chaste  harmonious  pair  behold  j 
And  thus  reward  the  generous  flame 
Of  all  who  barter  vows  for  gold. 
O  bloom  of  youth,  O  tender  charms 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  13 

Well-buried  in  a  dotard's  arms  ! 

O  equal  price  of  beauty  sold  !  42 

VII. 

Cease  then  to  gaze  with  looks  of  love  : 

Bid  her  adieu,  the  venal  fair  : 

Unworthy  she  your  bliss  to  prove  5 

Then  wherefore  should  she  prove  your  care  ? 

No  :  lay  your  myrtle  garland  down ; 

And  let  awhile  the  willow's  crown 

With  luckier  omens  bind  your  hair.  49 

VIII. 
O  just  escaped  the  faithless  main, 

Though  driven  unwilling  on  the  land  ; 

To  guide  your  favoured  steps  again, 

Behold  your  better  GENIUS  stand: 

Where   TRUTH  revolves  her  page  divine, 

Where  VIRTUE  leads  to  HONOUR'S  shrine, 

Behold,  he  lifts  his  awful  hand.  56 

IX. 

Fix  but  on  these  your  ruling  aim, 

And  Time,  the  sire  of  manly  care, 
Will  Fancy's  dazzling  colours  tame  ; 
A  soberer  dress  will  beauty  wear  : 
Then  shall  esteem  by  knowledge  led, 
"  Inthrone  within  your  heart  and  head 
Some  happier  love,  some  truer  fair.  63 


B 


ODE    IV. 

ODE    IV. 

AFFECTED  INDIFFERENCE. 

TO     THE     SAME. 
I. 

i  ES  :  you  contemn  the  purjured  maid 
Who  all  your  favourite  hopes  betrayed  : 
Nor,  though  her  heart  should  home  return, 
Her  tuneful  tongue  its  falsehood  mourn, 
Her  winning  eyes  your  faith  implore, 
Would  you  her  hand  receive  again, 
Or  once  dissemble  your  disdain, 
Or  listen  to  the  syren's  theme> 
Or  stoop  to  love  :  since  now  esteem 
And  confidence,  and  friendship,  is  no  more.  10 

II. 

Yet  tell  me,  Phaedria,  tell  me  why, 

When,  summoning  your  pride,  you  try 
To  meet  her  looks  with  cool  neglect, 
Or  cross  her  walk  with  slight  respect, 
(For  so  is  falsehood  best  repaid) 
Whence  do  your  cheeks  indignant  glow  2 
Why  is  your  struggling  tongue  so  slow  ? 
What  means  that  darkness  on  your  brow  ? 
As  if  with  all  her  broken  vow 
You  meant  the  fair  apostate  to  upbraid  ?  20 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  15 

O  D  E     V. 

AGAINST   SUSPICION. 

I. 

v/H  fly  !  'tis  dire  SUSPICION'S  mien ; 
And,  meditating  plagues  unseen, 

The  sorceress  hither  bends  : 
Behold  her  torch  in  gall  imbrued  : 
Behold — her  garment  drops  with  blood 

Of  lovers  and  of  friends.  6 

II. 
Fly  far  !   Already  in  your  eyes 

I  see  a  pale  suffusion  rise  ; 

And  soon  through  every  vein, 
Soon  will  her  secret  venom  spread, 
And  all  your  heart  and  all  your  head 

Imbibe  the  potent  stain.  12 

III. 

Then  many  a  demon  will  she  raise 

To  vex  your  sleep,  to  haunt  your  ways ; 

While  gleams  of  lost  delight 
Raise  the  dark  tempest  of  the  brain, 
As  lightning  shines  across  the  main 

Through  whirlwinds  and  through  night.      18 

IV. 
No  more  can  faith  or  candour  move ; 

But  each  ingenuous  deed  of  love, 

Which  reason  would  applaud, 
Now,  smiling  o'er  her  dark  distress, 
Fancy  malignant  strives  to  dress 

Like  injury  and  fraud,  24, 


IQ  OBEY. 

V. 

Farewell  to  virtue's  peaceful  times  : 
Soon  will  you  stoop  to  act  the  Crimea 

Which  thus  you  stoop  to  fear  : 
Guilt  follows  guilt ;  and  where  the  train 
Begins  with  wrongs  of  such  a  stain, 

What  horrors  form  the  rear  !  30 

VI. 
3  Pis  thus  to  work  her  baleful  power 

SUSPICION  waits  the  sullen  hour 

Of  fretfulness  and  strife, 
When  care  the  infirmer  bosom  wrings, 
Or  EURUS  waves  his  murky  wings 

To  damp  the  seats  of  life.  36 

VII. 
But  come,  forsake  the  scene  unbless'd 

Which  first  beheld  your  faithful  breast 

To  groundless  fears  a  prey  : 
Come,  where  with  my  prevailing  lyre 
The  skies,  the  streams,  the  groves  conspire 

To  charm  your  doubts  away.  42- 

VIII. 
Throned  in  the  sun's  descending  car, 

What  power  unseen  diffuseth  far 

This  tenderness  of  mind  ? 
What  GENIUS  smiles  on  yonder  flood  1 
What  GOD,  in  whispers  from  the  wood, 

Bids  every  thought  be  kind  ?  48 

IX. 

O  THOU  whate'er  thy  awful  name, 

Whose  wisdom  our  untoward  frame 
With  social  love  restrains  ^ 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  17 

Thou,  who  by  fair  affection's  ties 
Givest  us  to  double  all  our  joys 

And  half  disarm  our  pains ;  54 

*X. 
If  far  from  DYSON  and  from  me 

Suspicion  took,  by  thy  decree, 

Her  everlasting  flight ; 
If  firm  on  virtue's  ample  base 
Thy  parent  hand  has  deign 'd  to  raise 

Our  friendship's  honour'd  height ;  60 

XI. 

Let  universal  candour  still, 

Clear  as  yon  heaven-reflecting  rill, 

Preserve  my  open  mind  ; 
Nor  this  nor  that  man's  crooked  ways 
One  sordid  doubt  within  me  raise 

To  injure  human  kind.  60 

'  This  stanza  ivasjound  in  a  copy  presented  by  Akinside. 

ODE     VI. 

HYMN   TO   CHEERFULNESS. 

JLJ.OW  thick  the  shades  of  evening  close  ! 
How  pale  the  sky  with  weight  of  snows  ! 
Haste,  light  the  tapers,  urge  the  fire, 
And  bid  the  joyless  day  retire. 

-Alas,  in  vain  I  try  within 

To  brighten  the  dejected  scene, 
While,  roused  by  grief,  these  fiery  pains 
Tear  the  frail  texture  of  my  veins  ; 
While  winter's  voice,  that  storms  around/ 
Bb  2 


18  ODE    VI. 

And  yon  deep  death-bell's  groaning  sound          10 
Renew  my  mind's  oppressive  gloom, 
Till  starting  horror  shakes  the  room. 

Is  there  in  nature  no  kind  power 
To  sooth  affliction's  lonely  hour  ? 
To  blunt  the  edge  of  dire  disease, 
And  teach  these  wintry  shades  to  please  ? 
Come,  CHEERFULNESS,  triumphant  fair, 
Shine  through  the  hovering  cloud  of  care  : 
O  sweet  of  language,  mild  of  mien, 
O  virtue's  friend  and  pleasure's  queen,  20 

Assuage  the  flames  that  burn  my  breast, 
Compose  my  jarring  thoughts  to  rest; 
And  while  thy  gracious  gifts  I  feel, 
My  song  shall  all  thy  praise  reveal. 

As  once  ('twas  in  Astraea's  reign) 
The  vernal  powers  renew'd  their  train,. 
It  happen'd  that  immortal  LOVE 
Was  ranging  through  the  spheres  above, 
And  downward  hither  cast  his  eye 
The  year's  returning  pomp  to  spy.  3b 

He  saw  the  radiant  god  of  day, 
Waft  in  his  car  the  rosy  MAY  ; 
The  fragrant  Airs  and  genial  Hours 
Were  shedding  round  him  dews  and  flowers ; 
Before  his  wheels  Aurora  pass'd, 
And  Hesper's  golden  lamp  was  last. 
But,  fairest  of  the  blooming  throng, 
When  HEALTH  majestic  moved  along, 
Delighted  to  survey  below 

The  joys  which  from  her  presence  flow,  40 

While  earth  enliven'd  hears  her  voice, 


BOOK    THE   FIRST.  19 

And  swains,  and  flocks,  and  fields  rejoice  ; 
Then  mighty  LOVE  her  charms  confessed, 
And  soon  his  vows  inclined  her  breast, 
And,  known  from  that  auspicious  morn, 
The  pleasing  CHEERFULNESS  was  born. 

Thou,  CHEERFULNESS,  by  Heaven  designed 
To  sway  the  movements  of  the  mind, 
Whatever  fretful  passion  springs, 
Whatever  wayward  fortune  brings  50 

To  disarrange  the  power  within, 
And  strain  the  musical  machine  : 
Thou,  Goddess,  thy  attempering  hand 
Doth  each  discordant  string  command, 
Refines  the  soft,  and  swells  the  strong  ; 
And  joining  NATURE'S  GENERAL  SONG, 
Through  many  a  varying  tone,  unfolds 
The  harmony  of  human  souls. 

Fair  guardian  of  domestic  life, 
Kind  banisher  of  homebred  strife,  60 

Nor  sullen  lip,  nor  taunting  eye 
Deforms  the  scene  where  thou  art  by  : 
No  sickening  husband  damns  the  hour 
Which  bound  his  joys  to  female  power ; 
No  pining  mother  weeps  the  cares 
Which  parent*  waste  on  thankless  heirs  : 
The  officious  daughters  pleased  attend ; 
The  brother  adds  the  name  of  friend  : 
By  thee  with  flowers  their  board  is  crownM, 
With  songs  from  thee  their  walks  resound  j         70 
And  morn  with  welcome  lustre  shines, 
And  evening  unperceived  declines. 


20  ODE    VI. 

Is  there  a  youth,  whose  anxious  heart 
Labours  with  LOVE'S  unpitied  smart  ? 
Though  now  he  stray  by  rills  and  bowers, 
-  And  weeping  waste  the  lonely  hours, 
Or  if  the  nymph  her  audience  deign, 
Debase  the  story  of  his  pain 
With  slavish  looks,  discoloured  eyes, 
And  accents  faltering  into  sighs ;  8O 

Yet  thou,  auspicious  power,  with  ease 
Can'st  yield  him  happier  arts  to  please, 
Inform  his  mien  with  manlier  charms,, 
Instruct  his  tongue  with  nobler  arms, 
With  more  commanding  passion  move 
And  teach  the  dignity  of  LOVE. 

Friend  to  the  MUSE  and  all  her  train. 
For  thee  I  court  the  MUSE  again  : 
The  MUSE  for  thee  may  well  exert 
Her  pomp,  her  charms,  her  fondest  art,  90 

Who  owes  to  thee  that  pleasing  sway 
Which  earth  and  peopled  heaven  obey. 
Let  melancholy's  plaintive  tongue 
Repeat  what  later  bards  have  sung  ; 
But  thine  was  HOMER'S  ancient  might, 
And  thine  victorious  PINDAR'S  flight : 
Thy  hand  each  *  Lesbian  wreath  attired  : 
Thy  lip  t  Sicilian  reeds  inspired  : 
Thy  spirit  lent  the  glad  perfume 
Whence  yet  the  flowers  of  |  Teos  bloom ;          100 
Whence  yet  from  Tibur's  Sabine  vale 
Delicious  blows  the  enlivening  gale, 

*  AkfEus  and  Sappho.  f  Theocritus-  J  Anacreon- 

Vaiv        V,  94.     Instruct  the  nightly  strains  of  Young* 


BOOK  THE   FIRST.  21 

While  HOKACE  calls  thy  sportive  choir, 
Heroes  and  nymphs,  around  his  lyre. 

But  see  where  yonder  PENSIVE  SAGE 
(A  prey  perhaps  to  fortune's  rage, 
Perhaps  by  tender  griefs  oppressed, 
Or  glooms  congenial  to  his  breast) 
Retires,  in  desart  scenes  to  dwell, 
And  bids  the  joyless  world  farewell.  1 10 

Alone,  he  treads  the  autumnal  shade, 
Alone,  beneath  the  mountain  laid 
He  sees  the  nightly  damps  ascend, 
And  gathering  storms  aloft  impend; 
He  hears  the  neighbouring  surges  roll, 
And  raging  thunders  shake  the  pole  : 
Then,  struck  by  every  object  round, 
And  stunn'd  by  every  horrid  sound, 
He  asks  a  clue  for  Nature's  ways ; 
But  EVIL  haunts  him  through  the  maze  :  120 

He  sees  ten  thousand  demons  rise 
To  wield  the  empire  of  the  skies, 
And  Chance  and  Fate  assume  the  rod, 
And  Malice  blot  the  throne  of  GOD. 
— O  THOU,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing, 
Thy  lenient  influence  hither  bring ; 
Compose  the  storm,  dispel  the  gloom, 
Till  Nature  wear  her  wonted  bloom, 
Till  fields  and  shades  their  sweets  exhale, 
And  music  swell  each  opening  gale  :  130* 

Then  o'er  his  breast  thy  softness  pour, 
And  let  him  learn  the  timely  hour 


ODE    VI. 

To  trace  the  world's  benignant  laws. 
And  judge  of  that  PRESIDING  CAUSE 
Who  founds  on  discord,  beauty's  reign, 
Converts  to  pleasure  every  pain, 
Subdues  each  hostile  form  to  rest, 
And  bids  the  universe  be  bless'd. 

O  THOU,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing, 
If  right  I  touch  the  votive  str.ingv  HO 

If  equal  praise  I  yield  thy  name, 
Still  govern  thou  thy  poet's  flame ; 
Still  with  the  MUSE  my  bosom  share, 
And  sooth  to  peace  intruding  care. 
But  most  exert  thy  pleasing  power 
On  FRIENDSHIP'S  consecrated  hour  * 
And  while  my  DYSON  points  the  road 
To  godlike  wisdom's  calm  abode, 
Or  warm  in  freedom's  ancient  cause 
Traceth  the  source  of  Albion's  laws,  150 

Add  THOU  o'er  all  the  generous  toil 
The  light  of  thy  unclouded  smile. 
But,  if  by  fortune's  stubborn  sway 
From  him  and  friendship  torn  away, 
I  court  the  MUSE'S  healing  spell 
For  griefs  that  still  with  absence  dwell, 
Do  thou  conduct  my  fancy's  dreams 
To  such  indulgent,  placid  themes, 
As  just  the  struggling  breast  may  cheer 
Au&just  suspend  (he  starting  tear,  160 

Yet  leave  that  sacred  sense  of  woe 
Which  none  but  friends  and  lovers  know, 


BOOK   THE    FIRST.  23 

ODE     VII. 

ON   THE   USE   OF   POETRY. 
I. 

.N  OT  for  themselves  did  human  kind 
Contrive  the  parts  by  Heaven  assigned 

On  life's  wide  scene  to  play  : 
Not  SCIPIO'S  force,  nor  CESAR'S  skill 
Can  conquer  glory's  arduous  hill;, 

If  FORTUNE  close  the  way'.  6 

II. 

Yet  still  the  self-depending  soul, 
Though  last  and  least  in  fortune's  roll, 

His  proper  sphere  commands ; 
And  knows  what  Nature's  seal  bestow'd, 
And  sees,  before  the  throne  of  GOD, 

The  rank  in  which  he  stands.  12 

III. 
Who  train'd  by  laws  the  future  age, 

Who  rescued  nations  from  the  rage 

Of  partial,  factious  power, 
My  heart  with  distant  homage  views ; 
Content  if  thou,  celestial  MUSE, 

Did'st  rule  my  natal  hour.  J  8 

IV. 

Not  far  beneath  the  HEKO'S  feet, 

Nor  from  the  LEGISLATOR'S  seat 

Stands  far  remote  the  BARD. 
Though  not  with  public  terrors  crown'd, 


ODE    VIL 

Yet  wider  shall  his  rule  be  found, 

More  lasting  his  award.  24- 

V. 

LYCURGUS  fashioned  SPARTA'S  fame, 

And  POMPEY  to  the  ROMAN  name 

Gave  universal  sway  : 

Where  are  they  ? — HOMER'S  reverend  page 
Holds  empire  to  the  thirtieth  age, 

And  tongues  and  climes  obey.  30 

VI. 
And  thus  when  WILLIAM'S  acts  divine 

No  longer  shall  from  BOURBON'S  line 

Draw  one  vindictive  vow  ; 
When  SIDNEY  shall  with  CATO  rest. 
And  RUSSEL  move  the  patriot's  breast 

No  more  than  BRUTUS  now ;  36 

VII. 

Yet  then  shall  SHAKESPEARE'S  powerful  art 

O'er  every  passion,  every  heart, 

Confirm  his  awful  throne  : 
Tyrants  shall  bow  before  his  laws ; 
And  freedom's,  glory's,  virtue's  cause, 

Their  dread  assertor  own.  42 


25 

ODE    VIII. 

<ON    LEAVING   HOLLAND. 

I,    1. 

FAREWELL  to  Leyden's  lonely  bound, 
The  Belgian  Muse's  sober  seat; 
Where  dealing  frugal  gifts  around 
To  all  the  favourites  at  her  feet, 
She  trains  the  body's  bulky  frame 
For  passive,  persevering  toils ; 
And  lest,  from  any  prouder  aim, 
The  daring  mind  should  scorn  her  homely  spoils, 
She  breathes  maternal  fogs  to  damp  its  restless  flame. 

I.     2. 
Farewell  the  grave,  pacific  air,  10 

Where  never  mountain  zephyr  blew  : 
The  marshy  levels  lank  and  bare, 
Which  Pan,  \\hich  Ceres  never  knew  : 
The  Naiads,  with  obscene  attire, 
Urging  in  vain  their  urns  to  flow  ; 
While  round  them  chant  the  croaking  choir, 
And  haply  sooth  some  lover's  prudent  woe,  17 

Or  prompt  some  restive  bard  and  modulate  his  lyre. 

I.      3. 
Farewell,  ye  nymphs  !  whom  sober  care  of  gain 

Snatched  in  your  cradles  from  the  god  of  love  : 
She  rendered  all  his  boasted  arrows  vain ; 
And  all  his  gifts  did  he  in  spite  remove. 
Ye  too,  the  slow-eyed  fathers  of  the  land, 
With  whom  dominion  steals  from  hand  to  hand, 
Unown'd,  undignified  by  public  choice, 
C  c 


26  ODE    VIII. 

I  go  where  LIBERTY  to  all  is  known, 
And  tells  a  monarch  on  his  throne, 
He  reigns  not  but  by  her  preserving  voice.  28 

II.     I. 
O  my  loved  ENGLAND,  when  with  thee 

Shall  I  sit  down  to  part  no  more  ? 
Far  from  this  pale  discolour'd  sea, 
That  sleeps  upon  the  reedy  shore  : 
When  shall  I  plough  thy  azure  tide  ? 
When  on  thy  hills  the  flocks  admire, 
Like  mountain  snows ;  till  down  their  side 
I  trace  the  village  and  the  sacred  spire,  36 

While  bowers  and  copses  green  the  golden  slope  divide  ? 

II.    2. 

Ye  nymphs,  who  guard  the  pathless  grove, 
Ye  blue-eyed  sisters  of  the  streams, 
x    With  whom  I  wont  at  morn  to  rove, 
With  whom  at,  noon  I  talk'd  in  dreams ; 
O  take  me  to  your  haunts  again, 
The  rocky  $pring,  the  greenwood  glade, 
To  guide  my  lonely  footsteps  deign,  44 

To  prompt  my  slumbers  in  the  murmuring  shade, 
And  sooth  my  vacant  ear  with  many  an  airy  strain. 

II.    3. 

And  thou,  my  faithful  HARP,  no  longer  mourn 
Thy  drooping  master's  inauspicious  hand ; 
Now  brighter  skies  and  fresher  gales  return, 
Now  fairer  maids  thy  melody  demand. 
Daughters  of  ALBION,  listen  to  my  lyre ! 
O  PHCEBUS,  guardian  of  the  Aonian  choir, 
Why  sounds  not  mine  harmonious  as  thy  own. 
When  all  the  virgin  deities  above 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  27 

With  Venus  and  with  Juno  move 
In  concert  round  the  Olympian  father's  throne  !         56 

III.   1. 
Thee  too,  protectress  of  my  lays, 

Elate  with  whose  majestic  call 
Above  degenerate  Latium's  praise, 
Above  the  slavish  boast  of  Gaul, 
I  dare  from  impious  thrones  reclaim, 
And  wanton  sloth's  ignoble  charms, 
The  honours  of  a  poet's  name 

To  Somer's  counsels,  or  to  Hamden's  arms,  (34- 

Thee  FREEDOM,  I  rejoin,  and  bless  thy  genuine  flame. 

III.   2. 
Great  CITIZEN  of  Albion  !    thee 

Heroic  valour  still  attends, 
And  useful  SCIENCE  pleased  to  see 
How  ART  her  studious  toil  extends. 
While  TKUTH,  diffusing  from  on  high 
A  lustre  unconfmed  as  day, 
Fills  and  commands  the  public  eye ; 
Till,  pierced  and  sinking  by  her  powerful  ray,        73 
Tame  faith  and  monkish  awe,  like  nightly  demons,  fly. 

III.    3. 

Hence  the  whole  land  the  PATRIOT'S  ardour  shares  : 
Hence  dread  religion  dwells  with  social  joy  ; 
And  holy  passions  and  unsullied  cares, 
In  youth,  in  age,  domestic  life  employ. 
O  fair  BRITANNIA,  hail  ! — With  partial  love 
The  tribes  of  men  their  native  seats  approve, 
Unj  ust  and  hostile  to  each  foreign  fame  : 
But  when  for  generous  minds  and  manly  laws 
A  nation  holds  her  prime  applause, 
There  public  zeal  shall  all  reproof  disclaim.  84- 


ODE    IX. 

TO    CURIO.* 

I. 

1HRICE  hath  the  spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame 
Since  I  exulting  graspM  the  tuneful  shell : 
Eager  through  endless  years  to  sound  thy  name, 
Proud  that  my  memory  with  thine  should  dwell. 
How  hast  thou  stain'd  the  splendor  of  my  choice  ! 
Those  godlike  forms  which  hover'd  round  thy  voice, 
Laws,  freedom,  glory,  whither  are  they  flown  ? 
What  can  I  now  of  thee  to  Time  report, 
Save  thy  fond  country  made  thy  impious  sport, 
Her  fortune  and  her  hope  the  victims  of  thy  own  ?      1O 

II. 

There  are  with  eyes  unmoved  and  reckless  heart 
Who  saw  thee  from  thy  summit  fall  thus  low; 
Who  deemed  thy  arm  extended  but  to  dart 
The  public  vengeance  on  thy  private  foe. 
But,  spite  of  every  gloss  of  envious  minds, 
The  owl-eyed  race  whom  virtue's  lustre  blinds, 
Who  sagely  prove  that  each  man  hath  his  price, 
I  still  believed  thy  aim  from  blemish  free  ; 
I  yet,  even  yet  believe  it,  spite  of  thee 
And  all  thy  painted  pleas  to  greatness  and  to  vice.    2O 

*  See  the  Epistle  to  "  CURIO  ''  at  the  end  of  the  Odes  :  it  was 
first  published  in  J744,  when  a  celebrated  statesman,  Pultney  Earl 
of  Bath  (after  a  long  and  at  last  a  successful  opposition  to  an  unpopu- 
lar minister)  had  deserted  the  cause  of  his  country,  and  become  the 
foremost  in  support  of  the  same  measures  he  had  for  a  length 
of  time  contended  against.  It  was  afterwards  altered  into  this 
Ode-. — a  performance,  in  the  judgment  of  Dr.  Johnson,  disgraceful 
only  to  its  author!! — The  Epistle  is  too  curions  to  be  omitted* 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  29      * 

III. 
"  Thou  didst  not  dream  of  liberty  decay'd, 

"  Nor  wish  to  make  her  guardian  laws  more  strong  : 
"  But  the  rash  many,  first  by  thee  misled, 
"  Bore  thee  at  length  unwillingly  along." 
Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old 
For  faith  deserted,  or  for  cities  sold, 
Own  here  one  untried,  unexampled  deed ; 
One  mystery  of  shame  from  CURIO  learn, 
To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn,  29 

And  'scape  in  guilt's  disguise  from  virtue's  offer'd  meed. 

IV. 

For  saw  we  not  that  dangerous  power  avow'd 

Whom  freedom  oft  hath  found  her  mortal  bane, 
Whom  public  wisdom  ever  strove  to  exclude, 
And  but  with  blushes  suffereth  in  her  train  ? 
Corruption  vaunted  her  bewitching  spoils, 
O'er  court,  o'er  senate,  spread  in  pomp  her  toils, 
And  called  herself  the  state's  directing  soul : 
TiU  Curio,  like  a  good  magician  tried 
With  eloquence  and  reason  at  his  side,  39        ^ 

By  strength  of  holier  spells  the  inchantress  to  control. 

Soon  with  thy  country's  hope  thy  fame  extends  : 
The  rescued  merchant  oft  thy  words  resounds  : 
Thee  and  thy  cause  the  rural  hearth  defends  : 
His  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns  : 
The  learn'd  recluse,  with  awful  zeal  who  read 
Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots,  dead, 
Now  with  like  awe  doth  living  merit  scan  : 
While  he,  whom  virtue  in  his  blest  retreat 
Bade  social  ease  and  public  passions  meet, 

Ascends  the  civil  scene,  and  knows  to  be  a  man.        50 
Cc2 


30  ODE    IX. 

VI. 

At  length  in  view  the  glorious  end  appeared  ' 

We  saw  thy  spirit  through  the  senate  reign ; 
And  freedom's  friends  thy  instant  omen  heard 
Of  laws  for  which  their  fathers  bled  in  vain. 
Waked  in  the  strife  the  public  Genius  rose 
More  keen,  more  ardent,  from  his  long  repose  : 
Deep  through  her  bounds  the  city  felt  his  call : 
Each  crowded  haunt  was  stirr'd  beneath  his  power, 
And  murmuring  challenged  the  deciding  hour 
Of  that  too  vast  event,  the  hope  and  dread  of  all.       60 

VII. 
O  ye  good  powers,  who  look  on  human  kind, 

Instruct  the  mighty  moments,  as  they  roll : 
And  watch  the  fleeting  shapes  in  Curio's  mind, 
And  steer  his  passions  steady  to  the  goal. 
O  ALFRED,  father  of  the-English  name, 
O  valiant  EDWARD,  first  in  civil  fame, 
O  WILLIAM,  height  of  public  virtue  pure, 
Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye 
Behold  the  sum  of  all  your  labours  nigh,  (59 

Your  plans  of  law  complete,  your  ends  of  rule  secure. 

VIII. 

'Twas  then— O  shame  !  O  soul  from  faith  estranged  ! 
O  ALBION,  oft  to  flattering  vows  a  prey  ! 
'Twas  then — Thy  thought  what  sudden  frenzy 

changed  ? 

What  rushing  palsy  took  thy  strength  away  ? 
Is  this  the  man  in  freedom's  cause  approved  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honour 'd,  so  beloved  ? 
Whom  the  dead  envied  and  the  living  bless'd  ? 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  bonds  allured  ? 


BOOK   THE  FIRST.  31 

This  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjured  ? 
Whom  those,  that  feared  him,  scorn ;  that  trusted  Lnn, 
detest  ?  80 

IX. 

O  lost  alike  to  action  and  repose  ! 

With  all  that  habit  of  familiar  fame, 
Sold  to  the  mockery  of  relentless  foes 
And  doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame, 
To  act  with  burning  brow  and  throbbing  heart 
A  poor  deserter's  dull  exploded  part, 
To  slight  the  favour  thou  canst  hope  no  more, 
Renounce  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind, 
Charge  thy  own  lightness  on  thy  country's  mind,  89 
And  from  her  voice  appeal  to  each  tame  foreign  shore, 

X. 

But  England's  sons,  to  purchace  thence  applause, 

Shall  ne'er  the  loyalty  of  slaves  pretend, 
By  courtly  passions  try  the  public  cause  ; 
Nor  to  the  forms  of  rule  betray  the  end. 
O  race  erect !  by  manliest  passions  moved, 
The  labours  which  to  virtue  stand  approved, 
Prompt  with  a  lover's  fondness  to  survey ; 
Yet,  where  injustice  works  her  wilful  claim, 
Fierce  as  the  flight  of  Jove's  destroying  flame, 
Impatient  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay.  IOO 

XL 

These  thy  heart  owns  no  longer.     In  their  room 

See  the  grave  queen  of  pageants,  Honour,  dwell 
Couch'd  in  thy  bosom's  deep  tempestuous  gloom 
Like  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell. 
Before  her  rights  thy  sickening  reason  flew, 
Divine  persuasion  from  thy  tongue  withdrew, 


32  ODE    IX. 

While  laughter  mock'd,  or  pity  stole  a  sigh  : 
Can  wit  her  tender  movements  rightly  frame 
Where  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  lame  ?      10£ 
Can  FANCY'S  feeble  springs  the  force  of  TRUTH  supply  ? 

XII. 

But  come  :  'tis  time  :  strong  DESTINY  impends 

To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray 'd  ; 
With  princes  fill'd,  the  solemn  fane  ascends, 
By  INFAMY,  the  mindful  demon,  sway'd, 
There  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effaced, 
From  nations  fetter'd,  and  from  towns  laid  waste, 
For  ever  through  the  spacious  courts  resound  : 
There  long  posterity's  united  groan 
And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own,    1 1 0 
Assail  the  giant  chiefs,  and  press  them  to  the  ground. 

XIII. 
In  sight  old  TIME,  imperious  judge,  awaits  : 

Above  revenge,  or  fear,  or  pity,  just, 
He  urgeth  onward  to  those  guilty  gates 
The  GREAT,*  the  SAGE,  the  HAPPY,  and  AUGUST* 
And  still  he  asks  them  of  the  hidden  plan 
Whence  every  treaty,  every  war  began, 
Evolves  their  secrets  and  their  guilt  proclaims : 
And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 
Of  each  vain  wreath  by  lying  bards  bestow'd,    1 29 
And  crush  their  trophies  huge,  and  rase  their  sculp- 
tured names. 

XIV. 
Ye  mighty  shades,  arise,  give  place,  attend  : 

Here  his  eternal  mansion  CURIO  seeks  : 

*  V.  124.  Titles  which  have  been  generally  ascribed  to  the  most 
pernicious  of  men. 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  33 

— *Low  doth  proud  WENTWORTH  to  the  stranger  bend, 
And  his  dire  welcome  hardy  CLIFFORD  speaks  : 
te  He  comes,  whom  fate  with  surer  arts  prepared 
te  To  accomplish  all  which  we  but  vainly  dared  ; 
"  Whom  o'er  the  stubborn  herd  she  taught  to  reign  : 
"  Who  sooth'd  with  gaudy  dreams  their  raging  power, 
"  Even  to  its  last  irrevocable  hour ; 
"  Then  baffled  their  rude  strength,  and  broke  them  to 
"  the  chain." 

XV. 

But  ye,  whom  yet  wise  LIBERTY  inspires, 

Whom  for  her  champions  o'er  the  world  she  claims, 
(That  household  godhead  whom  of  old  your  sires 
Sought  in  the  woods  of  Elbe  and  bore  to  Thames) 
Drive  ye  this  hostile  omen  far  away ; 
Their  own  fell  efforts  on  HER  foes  repay ;  1 49 

Your  wealth,  your  arts,  your  fame,  be  HER'S  alone  ; 
Still  gird  your  swords  to  combat  on  HER  side ; 
Still  frame  your  laws  HER  generous  test  to  abide ; 
And  win  to  HER  defence  the  ALTAR,  and  the  THRONE, 

XVI. 

Protect  HER  from  YOURSELVES,  ere  yet  the  flood 
Of  golden  LUXURY,  which  COMMERCE  pours, 
Hath  spread  that  selfish  fierceness  through  your  blood, 
Which  not  HER  lightest  discipline  indures  : 
Snatch  from  fantastic  demagogues  HER  cause  : 
Dream  not  of  NUMA'S  manners,  PLATO'S  laws  :  159 
A  wiser  Founder,  and  a  nobler  plan, 
O  sons  of  ALFRED,  were  for  you  assigned ; 
Bring  to  that  birthright  but  an  equal  mind, 
And  no  sublimer  lot  will  fate  reserve  for  man. 


34. 

O  D  E    X. 

TO    THE    MUSE. 

I. 

>^UEEN  of  my  songs,  HARMONIOUS  MAID  ! 
Ah  why  hast  thou  withdrawn  thy  aid  ? 
Ah  why  forsaken  thus  my  breast 
With  inauspicious  damps  oppressed  ? 
Where  is  the  dread  prophetic  heat, 
With  which  my  bosom  wont  to  beat  ? 
Where  all  the  bright  mysterious  dreams 
Of  haunted  groves  and  tuneful  streams, 
That  woo'd  my  genius  to  divinest  themes  ?  9 

II. 
Say,  goddess,  can  the  festal  board, 

Or  young  OLYMPIADS  form  adored, 
Say,  can  the  pomp  of  promis'd  fame 
Relume  thy  faint,  thy  dying  flame  ? 
Or  have  melodious  airs  the  power 
To  give  one  free,  poetic  hour  ? 
Or,  from  amid  the  Elysian  train, 
The  soul  of  MILTON  shall  I  gain, 
To  win  thee  back  with  some  celestial  strain  ?  18 

III. 

0  powerful  strain  !   O  sacred  soul"! 

His  numbers  every  sense  control : 
And  now  again  my  bosorn  burns ; 
The  MUSE,  the  MUSE  herself  returns, 
Such  on  the  banks  of  Tyne,  confessed 

1  hailjd  the  fair  immortal  guest, 


BOOK    THE   FIRST.  35 

When  first  she  seal'd  me  for  her  own, 
Made  all  her  blissful  treasures  known, 
And  bade  me  swear  to  follow  HER  alone.  27 

ODE     XL 

ON    LOVE,    TO    A    FRIEND. 
I. 


No, 


foolish  youth — to  virtuous  fame, 
Jf  now  thy  early  hopes  be  vow'd, 
If  true  AMBITION'S  nobler  flarne 
Command  thy  footsteps  from  the  crowd ; 
Lean  not  to  LOVE'S  inchanting  snare ; 
His  songs,  his  words,  his  looks  beware, 
Nor  join  his  votaries,  the  young  and  fair.  7 

II. 

By  thought,  by  dangers,  and  by  toils, 

The  wreath  of  just  renown  is  worn  ; 
Nor  will  AMBITION'S  awful  spoils 
The  flowery  pomp  of  ease  adorn  : 
But  LOVE  unbends  the  force  of  thought ; 
By  LOVE  unmanly  fears  are  taught ; 
And  LOVE'S  reward  with  gaudy  sloth  is  bought.      14- 

III. 
Yet  thou  hast  read  in  tuneful  lays, 

And  heard  from  many  a  zealous  breast, 
The  pleasing  tale  of  beauty's  praise 
In  wisdom's  lofty  language  dress'd 
Of  beauty  powerful  to  impart 
Each  finer  sense,  each  comlier  art, 
And  sooth  and  polish  man's  ungentle  heart,  21 


36  ODE    XL 

IV. 

If  then,  from  LOVE'S  deceit  secure, 

Thus  far  alone  thy  wishes  tend, 
Go ;  see  the  white-wing'd  evening  hour 
On  DELIA'S  vernal  walk  descend  ; 
Go,  while  the  golden  light  serene, 
The  grove,  the  lawn,  the  soften'd  scene 
Becomes  the  presence  of  the  rural  queen.  28 

V. 

Attend,  while  that  harmonious  tongue 

Each  bosom,  each  desire  commands  : 
Apollo's  lute  by  Hermes  strung 
And  touch'd  by  chaste  Minerva's  hands, 
Attend.     I  feel  a  force  divine, 
O  DELTA,  win  my  thonghts  to  thine ; 
That  half  the  colour  of  thy  life  is  mine.  &5 

VI. 

Yet  conscious  of  the  dangerous  charm, 

Soon  would  I  turn  my  steps  away ; 
Nor  oft  provoke  the  lovely  harm, 
Nor  lull  my  reason's  watchful  sway. 
But  thou,  my  friend — I  hear  thy  sighs  : 
Alas,  I  read  thy  downcast  eyes ; 
And  thy  tongue  falters  ;  and  thy  colour  flies,          42 

VII. 
So  soon  again  to  meet  the  fair  ? 

So  pensive  all  this  absent  hour  ? 
— O  yet,  unlucky  youth,  beware, 
While  yet  to  think  is  in  thy  power. 
In  vain  with  FRIENDSHIP'S  flattering  name 
Thy  passion  veils  its  inward  shame ; 
FRIENDSHIP,  the  treacherous  fuel  of  thy  flame  !        49 


BOOK   THE    FIRST.  37 

VIII. 
Once,  I  remember/ new  to  love, 

And  dreading  his  tyrannic  chain, 
I  sought  a  gentle  maid  to  prove 
What  peaceful  joys  in  friendship  reign  : 
Whence  we  forsooth  might  safely  stand, 
And  pitying  view  the  lovesick  band, 
And  mock  the  winged  boy's  malicious  hand.  56 

IX. 
Thus  frequent  pass'd  the  cloudless  day, 

To  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  resigned ; 
While  I  exulted  to  survey 
One  generous  woman's  real  mind  : 
Till  friendship  soon  my  languid  breast 
Each  night  with  unknown  cares  possess'd, 
Dash'd  my  coy  slumbers,  or  my  dreams  distressed.  63 

X. 

Fool  that  I  was -And  now,  even  now 

While  thus  I  preach  the  Stoic  strain, 
Unless  I  shun  OLYMPIADS  view, 
An  hour  unsays  it  all  again. 
O  friend  !— when  LOVE  directs  her  eyes 
To  pierce  where  every  passion  lies, 
Where  is  the  firm,  the  cautious,  or  the  wise  ?        70 

ODE    XII. 

TO   SIR   FRANCIS    HENRY   DRAKE, 
BARONET. 

I, 

BEHOLD;  the  Balance  in  the  sky 
Swift  on  the  wintry  scale  inclines  ; 
Dd 


38  ODE    XII. 

To  earthy  caves  the  DRYADS  fly, 

And  the  bare  pastures  PAN  resigns. 

Late  did  the  farmer's  fork  overspread 

With  recent  soil  the  twice-mown  mead, 

Tainting  the  bloom  which  autumn  knows  : 

He  whets  the  rusty  coulter  now, 

He  binds  his  oxen  to  the  plough, 

And  wide  his  future  harvest  throws.  10 

II. 

Now,  London's  busy  confines  round, 

By  Kensington's  imperial  towers, 

From  Highgate's  rough  descent  profound, 

Essexian  heaths,  or  Kentish  bowers, 

Where'er  I  pass,  I  see  approach 

Some  rural  statesman's  eager  coach 

Hurried  by  senatorial  cares : 

While  rural  nymphs  (alike,  within, 

Aspiring  courtly  praise  to  win) 

Debate  their  dress,  reform  their  airs,  20 

III. 

Say,  what  can  now  the  country  boast, 

O  DRAKE,  thy  footsteps  to  detain, 

When  peevish  winds  and  gloomy  frost    . 

The  sunshine  of  the  temper  stain  ? 

Say,  are  the  priests  of  Devon  grown 

Friends  to  this  tolerating  throne, 

Champions  for  George's  legal  right  ? 

Have  general  FREEDOM,  equal  LAW, 

Won  to  the  glory  of  NASSAU 

Each  bold  Wessexian  squire  and  knight  ?  30 

IV. 
J  doubt  it  much ;  and  guess  at  least 


BOOK   THE    FIRST.  39 

That  when  the  day,  which  made  us  free, 

Shall  next  return,  that  sacred  feast 

Thou  better  may'st  observe  with  me. 

With  me  the  sulphurous  treason  old 

A  far  inferior  part  shall  hold 

In  that  glad  day's  triumphal  strain  ; 

And  generous  WILLIAM  be  revered, 

Nor  one  untimely  accent  heard 

Of  JAMES,  or  his  ignoble  reign.  4-0 

V. 
Then,  while  the  Gascon's  fragrant  wine] 

With  modest  cups  our  joy  supplies, 

We'll  truly  thank  the  power  divine 

Who  bade  the  chief,  the  patriot  rise  ; 

Rise  from  heroic  ease  (the  spoil 

Due,  for  his  youth's  Herculean  toil, 

From  Belgium  to  her  saviour  son) 

Rise  with  the  same  unconqner'd  zeal 

For  our  BRITANNIA'S  injured  weal, 

Her  laws  defaced,  her  shrines  o'erthrown.  50 

VI. 
He  came.     The  TYRANT  from  our  shore, 

Like  a  forbidden  demon,  fled ; 
And  to  eternal  exile  bore 
Pontific  rage  and  vassal  dread. 
There  sunk  the  mouldering  Gothic  reign  : 
New  years  came  forth,  a  liberal  train, 
Call'd  by  the  PEOPLE'S  great  decree. 
That  day,  my  friend,  let  blessings  crown  : 
—•Fill,  to  the  DEMIGOD'S  renown 

From  whom  thou  hast  that  thou  art  free.  60 

VII. 
Then,  DRAKE,  (for  wherefore  should  we  part 


40  ODE    XII. 

The  public  and  the  private  weal  ?) 

In  vows  to  her  who  sways  thy  heart, 

Fair  health,  glad  fortune,  will  we  deaL 

Whether  AGLAIA'S  blooming  cheek, 

Or  the  soft  ornaments  that  speak 

So  eloquent  in  DAPHNE'S  smile, 

Whether  the  piercing  lights  that  fly 

From  the  dark  heaven  of  MYRTO'S  eye, 

Haply  thy  fancy  then  beguile.  70 

VIII. 
For  so  it  is ;  thy  stubborn  breast, 

Though  touched  by  many  a  slighter  wound, 
Hath  no  full  conquest  yet  confessed, 
Nor  the  one  fatal  charmer  found. 
While  I,  a  true  and  loyal  swain, 
My  fair  OLYMPIADS  gentle  reign 
Through  all  the  varying  seasons  own. 

Her  geniUS  Still  my  boeom  warms  : 

No  other  maid  for  me  hath  charms, 

Or  I  have  eyes  for  her  alone.  80 


ODE    XIIL 

ON   LYRIC    POETRY. 
I.    1. 

ONCE  more  I  join  the  Thespian  choir, 
And  taste  the  inspiring  fount  again  : 
O  parent  of  the  GRECIAN  LYRE, 
Admit  me  to  thy  powerful  strain — 
And  lo,  with  ease  my  step  invades, 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  41 

The  pathless  vale  and  opening  shades, 

Till  now  I  spy  her  verdant  seat ; 

And  now  at  large  I  drink  the  sound, 

While  these  her  offspring,  listening  round, 

By  turns  her  melody  repeat.  10 

I.    2. 
I  see  ANACREON  smile  and  sing, 

His  silver  tresses  breathe  perfume ; 

His  cheek  displays  a  second  spring 

Of  roses  taught  by  wine  to  bloom. 

Away,  deceitful  cares,  away, 

And  let  me  listen  to  his  lay  ; 

Let  me  the  wanton  pomp  enjoy, 

While  in  smooth  dance  the  light- win  g'd  Hours 

Lead  round  his  lyre  its  patron  powers, 

Kind  laughter  and  convivial  joy.  20 

I.  3. 

Broke  from  the  fetters  of  his  native  land, 
Devoting  shame  and  vengeance  to  hervlords, 
With  louder  impulse  and  a  threatening  hand 
The  *  LESBIAN  PATRIOT  smites  the  sounding  chords  : 
Ye  wretches,  ye  perfidious  train, 
Ye  cursed  of  gods  and  freeborn  men, 

Ye  murderers  of  the  laws, 
Though  now  ye  glory  in  your  lust, 
Though  now  ye  tread  the  feeble  neck  in  dust, 
Yet  Time  and  righteous  Jove  will  judge  your  dread- 
ful cause.  30 

II.  1. 

But  lo,  to  SAPPHO'S  melting  airs 

Descends  the  radiant  queen  of  love  : 
She  smiles,  and  asks  what  fonder  cares 

*  Alcaeus, 
Dd2 


42  ODE    XIII. 

Her  suppliant's  plaintive  measures  move  :  fa 

Why  is  my  faithful  maid  distress'd  ?  • 

Who,  SAPPHO,  wounds  thy  tender  breast  ? 

Say,  flies  he  ? — Soon  he  shall  pursue  : 

Shuns  he  thy  gifts — .He  soon  shall  give  : 

Slights  he  thy  sorrows  ?— He  shall  grieve, 

And  soon  to  all  thy  wishes  bow,  40 

II.  2. 

But,  O  MELPOMENE,  for  whom 

Awakes  thy  golden  shell  again  ? 

What  mortal  breath  shall  e'er  presume 

To  echo  that  unbounded  strain  ? 

Majestic  in  the  frown  of  years, 

Behold,  the  *  MAN  OF  THEBES  appears  : 

For  some  there  are,  whose  mighty  frame 

The  hand  of  Jove  at  birth  endowed 

With  hopes  that  mock  the  gazing  crowd  ; 

As  eagles  drink  the  noontide  flame,  50 

II.  3, 

While  the  dim  raven  beats  her  weary  wings, 

And  clamours  far  below.— Propitious  MUSE, 
While  I  so  late  unlock  thy  purer  springs, 
And  breathe  whate'er  thy  ancient  airs  infuse, 
Wilt  thou  for  Albion's  sons  around 
(Ne'er  had'st  thou  audience  more  renown'd) 

Thy  charming  arts  employ, 
As  when  the  winds  from  shore  to  shore  58 

Thro*  Greece  thy  lyre's  persuasive  language  bore, 
Till  towns,  and  isles,  and  seas,  return'd  the  vocal  joy  ? 

III.  1. 

Yet  then  did  pleasure's  lawless  throng, 

Oft  rushing  forth  in  loose  attire, 
*  Pindar. 


BOOK    THE   FIRST.  43 

Thy  virgin  dance,  thy  graceful  song 

Pollute  with  impious  revels  dire. 

O  fair,  O  chaste,  thy  echoing  shade 

May  no  foul  discord  here  invade  : 

Nor  let  thy  strings  one  *  accent  move, 

Except  what  earth's  untroubled  ear 

'Mid  all  her  social  tribes  may  hear, 

And  heaven's  unerring  throne  approve.  70 

III.  2. 

Queen  of  the  LYRE,  in  thy  retreat 
The  fairest  flowers  of  PINDUS  glow ; 
The  vine  aspires  to  crown  thy  seat, 
Arid  myrtles  round  thy  laurel  grow. 
Thy  strings  adapt  their  varied  strain 
To  every  pleasure,  every  pain, 
Which  mortal  tribes  were  born  to  prove  j 
And  strait  our  passions  rise  or  fall, 
As  at  the  wind's  imperious  call 
The  ocean  swells,  the  billows  move.  80 

III.   3. 

When  midnight  listens  o'er  the  slumbering  earth;, 
Let  me,  O  MUSE,  thy  solemn  whispers  hear : 
When  morning  sends  her  fragrant  breezes  forth., 
With  airy  murmurs  touch  my  opening  ear. 
And  ever  watchful  at  thy  side, 
Let  WISDOM'S  awful  suffrage  guide 

The  tenor  of  thy  lay  : 
To  HER  of  old  by  Jove  was  given 
To  judge  the  various  deeds  of  earth  and  heaven ; 
'Twas  THINE  by  gentle  arts  to  win  us  to  HER  sway,  90 

*  (<No  line  which  dying  he  would  wish  to  blot." 


44  ODE     XIII. 

IV.   1. 
Oft  as,  to  well-earned  ease  resigned, 

I  quit  the  maze  where  SCIENCE  toils, 

Do  thou  refresh  noy  yielding  mind 

With  all  thy  gay,  delusive  spoils. 

But,  O  indulgent,  come  not  nigh 

The  busy  steps,  the  jealous  eye 

Of  wealthy  care  or  gainful  age ; 

Whose  barren  souls  thy  joys  disdain, 

And  hold  as  foes  to  reason's  reign 

Whomever  thy  lovely  works  engage.  10O 

IV.   2. 
When  FRIENDSHIP,  and  when  lettered  mirth 

Haply  partake  my  simple  board, 

Then  let  thy  blameless  hand  call  forth 

The  music  of  the  Teian  chord. 

Or  if  invoked  at  softer  hours, 

O  !  seek  with  me  the  happy  bowers 

That  hear  OLYMPIADS  gentle  tongue ; 

To  beauty  link'd  with  virtue's  train, . 

To  love  devoid  of  jealous  pain, 

There  let  the  SAPPHIC  lute  be  strung.  1 10 

IV.   3. 
,    But  when  from  envy  and  from  death  to  claim 

/    A  hero  bleeding  for  his  native  land  ; 

When  to  throw  incense  on  the  vestal  flame 
V     Of  LIBERTY  my  genius  gives  command, 
1    Nor  THEBAN  VOICE  nor  LESBIAN  LYRE 
"""From  thee,  O  MUSE,  do  I  require; 

While  my  presaging  mind, 
Conscious  of  powers  she  never  knew, 
Astonish'd  grasps  at  things  beyond  HER  view, 
Nor  by  another's  fate  submits  to  be  confined.       3  20 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  45 

ODE  XIV. 

TO  THE  HONOURABLE  CHARLES 
TOWNSHEND: 

FROM  THE  COUNTRY. 

I. 

&AY,  TOWNSHEND,  what  can  London  boast 
To  pay  thee  for  the  pleasures  lost, 

The  health  to-day  resigned, 
When  spring  from  this  her  favourite  seat 
Bade  winter  hasten  his  retreat, 

And  met  the  western  wind.  6 

II. 

Oh  knew'st  thou  how  the  balmy  air, 

The  sun,  the  azure  heavens  prepare 

To  heal  thy  languid  frame, 
No  more  would  noisy  courts  e nga^e  ; 
In  vain  would  lying  Factions  rage 

Thy  sacred  leisure  claim.  12 

III. 
Oft  I  lookM  forth,  and  oft  admired ; 

Till  with  the  studious  volume  tired 

I  sought  the  open  d  ay  ; 
And,  sure,  I  cry'd,  the  rural  gods 
Expect  me  in  their  green  abodes, 

And  chide  my  tardy  lay.  18 

IV. 

But  ah  !  in  vain  my  restless  feet 

Traced  every  silent  shady  seat 


ODE    XIV. 

Which  knew  their  forms  of  old  : 
Nor  Naiad,  by  her  fountain  laid  ; 
Nor  Wood-nymph,  tripping  through  her  glade ; 

Did  now  their  rites  unfold  :  24 

V. 

Whether  to  nurse  some  infant  oak 

They  turn  the  slowly-tinkling  brook 

And  catch  the  pearly  showers ; 
Or  brush  the  mildew  from  the  woods, 
Or  paint  with  noontide  beams  the  buds, 

Or  breathe  on  opening  flowers.  3© 

VI. 

Such  rites,  which  they  with  spring  renew, 

The  eyes  of  care  can  never  view  j 

And  care  hath  long  been  mine  : 
And  hence  offended  with  their  guest, 
Since  grief  of  love  my  soul  oppressed, 

They  hide  their  toils  divine.  36 

VII. 
But  soon  shall  thy  enlivening  tongue 

This  heart,  by  dear  affliction  wrung, 

With  noble  hope  inspire  : 
Then  will  the  sylvan  powers  again 
Receive  me  in  their  genial  train, 

And  listen  to  my  lyre.  42 

VIII. 
Beneath  yon  Dryad's  lonely  shade 

A  rustic  altar  shall  be  paid, 

Of  turf  with  laurel  framed  : 
And  thou  the  inscription  wilt  approve ; 
"  This  for  the  peace  which,  lost  by  love, 

(t  By  friendship  was  reclaim'd."  4S 


BOOK   THE  FIRST,  47 

ODE    XV. 

TO   THE  EVENING-STAR, 

L 

iO-NIGHT,  retired,  the  queen  of  heaver* 

With  young  Endymion  stays  : 
And  now  to  HESPER  it  is  given 
Awhile  to  rule  the  vacant  sky, 
Till  she  shall  to  her  lamp  supply 

A  stream  of  brighter  rays.  6 

II. 

O  HESPER>  while  the  starry  throng 

With  awe  thy  path  surrounds, 
Oh  listen  to  my  suppliant  song, 
If  haply  now  the  vocal  sphere 
Can  suffer  thy  delighted  ear 

To  stoop  to  mortal  sounds.  12 

III. 

So  may  the  bridegroom's  genial  strain 

Thee  still  invoke  to  shine  : 
So  may  the  bride's  unmarried  train 
To  HYMEN  chaunt  their  flattering  row, 
Still  that  his  lucky  torch  may  glow, 

With  lustre  pure  as  thine.  18 

IV. 

Far  other  vows  must  I  prefer 

To  thy  indulgent  power. 
Alas,  but  now  I  paid  my  tear 


48  ODE    XV. 

On  fair  OLYMPIADS  virgin  tomb  : 
And  lo,  from  thence,  in  quest  I  roam 

Of  PHILOMELA'S  bower.  24 

V. 
Propitious  send  thy  golden  ray, 

Thou  purest  light  above  : 
Let  no  false  flame  seduce  to  stray 
Where  gulph  or  steep  lie  hid  for  harm  : 
But  lead  where  music's  healing  charm 

May  sooth  afflicted  love.  30 

VI. 

To  them,  by  many  a  grateful  song 

In  happier  seasons  vow'd, 
These  lawns,  OLYMPIA'S  haunt,  belong  i 
Oft  by  yon  silver  stream  we  walked, 
Or  fix'd,  while  PHILOMELA  talk'd, 

Beneath  yon  copses  stood.  36 

VIL 
Nor  seldom,  where  the  beachen  boughs 

That  roofless  tower  invade, 
We  came,  while  her  enchanting  MUSE 
The  radiant  moon  above  us  held  : 
Till  by  a  clamorous  Owl  compelled 

She  fled  the  solemn  shade.  42 

VIII. 
But  hark ;  I  hear  her  liquid  tone* 

Now,  Hesper,  guide  my  feet 
Down  the  red  marie  with  moss  overgrown  ; 
Through  yon  wild  thicket  next  the  plain, 
Whose  hawthorns  choke  the  winding  lane 

Which  leads  to  her  retreat,  48 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  49 

IX. 

See  the  green  space  :  on  either  hand, 

Enlarged  it  spreads  around  : 
See  in  the  midst  she  takes  her  stand, 
Where  one  old  oak  his  awful  shade 
Extends  o'er  half  the  level  mead 

Inclosed  in  woods  profound.  54 

X. 
Hark,  how  through  many  a  melting  note 

She  now  prolongs  her  lays  : 
How  sweetly  down  the  void  they  float ! 
The  breeze  their  magic  path  attends  : 
The  stars  shine  out :  the  forest  bends  : 

The  wakeful  heifers  gaze.  60 

XI. 

Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  chance  may  bring 

To  this  sequestered  spot, 
It  then  the  plaintive  Syren  sing, 
Oh  softly  tread  beneath  her  bower, 
And  think  of  heaven's  disposing  power, 

Of  man's  uncertain  lot.  66 

XII. 

Oh  think,  o'er  all  this  mortal  stage> 

What  mournful  scenes  arise  : 
What  ruin  waits  on  kingly  rage : 
How  often  virtue  dwells  with  woe  : 
How  many  griefs  from  knowledge  flow : 

How  swiftly  pleasure  flies.  72 

XIII. 
O  sacred  bird,  let  me  at  eve> 

Thus  wandering  all  alone* 
Thy  tender  counsel  oft  receive, 

Ee 


50  ODE    XVI. 

Bear  witness  to  thy  pensive  airs, 
And  pity  Nature's  common  cares 

Till  I  forget  my  own.  78 

ODE    XVI. 

TO   CALEB   HARDINGE,    M.    D. 


WlTBT  sordid  floods  the  wintry  *  Urn 
Hath  stain'd  fair  Richmond's  level  green  : 
Her  naked  hill  the  Dryads  mourn, 
No  longer  a  poetic  scene. 
No  longer  there  thy  raptured  eye 
The  beauteous  forms  of  earth  or  sky 
Surveys  as  in  their  Author's  mind  : 
And  London  shelters  from  the  year 
Those  whom  thy  social  hours  to  share 

The  Attic  Muse  designed.  10 

II. 
From  Hampstead's  airy  summit  me 

Her  guest  the  city  shall  behold, 
What  day  the  people's  stern  decree 
To  unbelieving  kings  is  told, 
When  common  men  (the  dread  of  fame) 
Adjudged  as  one  of  evil  name, 
Before  the  sun,  the  anointed  head. 
Then  seek  tbou  too  the  pious  town, 
With  no  unworthy  cares  to  crown 

That  evening's  awful  shade.  20 

*  Aquarius. 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  51 

III. 
Deem  not  I  call  thee  to  deplore 

The  sacred  martyr  of  the  day, 
By  fast  and  penitential  lore 
To  purge  our  ancient  guilt  away. 
For  this,  on  humble  faith  I  rest 
That  still  our  advocate,  the  priest, 
From  heavenly  wrath  will  save  the  land ; 
Nor  ask  what  rights  our  pardon  gain, 
Nor  how  his  potent  sounds  restrain 

The  thunderer's  lifted  hand.  30 

IV. 
No,  HARDINGE  :  peace  to  church  and  state  ! 

That  evening  let  the  Muse  give  law  ; 
While  I  anew  the  theme  relate 
Which  my  first  youth  inamour'd  saw. 
Then  will  I  oft  explore  thy  thought, 
What  to  reject  which  LOCKE  hath  taught, 
What  to  pursue  in  VIRGIL'S  lay  : 
Till  hope  ascends  to  loftiest  things, 
Nor  envies  demagogues  or  kings 

Their  frail  and  vulgar  sway.  40 

V. 

O  versed  in  all  the  human  frame, 
Lead  thou  where'er  my  labour  lies, 
And  English  fancy's  eager  flame 
To  Grecian  purity  chastize  : 
While  hand  in  hand,  at  wisdom's  shrine, 
Beauty  with  Truth  I  strive  to  join, 
And  grave  assent  with  glad  applause ; 
To  paint  the  story  of  the  soul, 


2  ODE    XVII. 

And  PLATO'S  visions  to  control 

By  f  Verulamian  laws.  5O 

O  D  E     XVIL 

ON   A   SERMON   AGAINST    GLORY. 
MDCCXLVII. 

I. 

Ci 
OME  then,  tell  me,  sage  divine, 

Is  it  an  offence  to  own 
That  our  bosoms  e'er  incline 
Toward  immortal  GLORY'S  throne  ? 
For  with  me  nor  pomp,  nor  pleasure, 
Bourbon's  might,  Braganza's  treasure, 
So  can  fancy's  dream  rejoice, 
So  conciliate  reason's  choice, 
As  one  approving  word  of  HER  impartial  voice.  9 

II. 

If  to  spurn  at  noble  praise 

Be  the  pass-port  to  thy  heaven, 
Follow  thou  those  gloomy  ways  ; 
No  such  law  to  me  was  given, 
Nor,  I  trust,  shall  I  deplore  me, 
Faring  like  my  friends  before  me; 
Nor  an  holier  place  desire 
Than  Timoleon's  arms  acquire, 
And  Tully's  curule  chair,  arid  Milton's  golden  lyre.  1 8 

f  Verulam  gave  one  of  his  titles  to  Francis  Bacon,  author  of  the 
Novum  Organum. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  53 

ODE     XVIII. 

TO    THE   RIGHT    HONOURABLE 
FRANCIS   EARL   OF   HUNTINGDON. 

MDCCXLVIII. 

I.     1. 

1  HE  wise  and  great  of  every  clime, 
Through  all  the  spacious  walks  of  Time, 
Where'er  the  Muse  her  power  display 'd 
With  joy  have  listened  and  obey'd. 
For,  taught  of  heaven,  the  sacred  Nine 
Persuasive  numbers,  forms  divine, 

To  mortal  sense  impart : 
They  best  the  soul  with  glory  fire ; 
They  noblest  counsels,  boldest  deeds  inspire  ;        9 
And  high  o'er  Fortune's  rage  inthrone  the  fixed  heart. 

I.  2. 

Nor  less  prevailing  is  their  charm 

The  vengeful  bosom  to  disarm  j 

To  melt  the  proud  with  human  woe. 

And  prompt  unwilling  tears  to  flow. 

Can  wealth  a  power  like  this  afford  ? 

Can  Cromwell's  arts,  or  Marlborougli's  sword, 

An  equal  empire  claim  ? 
No,  HASTINGS.     Thou  my  words  wilt  own  : 
Thy  breast  the  gifts  of  every  Muse  hath  known  ; 
Nor  fchall  the  giver's  love  disgrace  thy  noble  name.  20 
Ee  2 


54  ODE    XVIIL 

I.  3. 

The  Muse's  awful  art, 

And  the  blest  function  of  the  Poet's  tongue, 
Ne'er  shalt  thou  blush  to  honour ;  to  assert 
From  all  that  scorned  vice  or  slavish  fear  hath  sung. 
Nor  shall  the  blandishment  of  Tuscan  strings 
Warbling  at  will  in  pleasure's  myrtle  bower ; 
Nor  shall  the  servile  notes  to  Celtic  kings 
By  flattering  minstrels  paid  in  evil  hour, 
Move  thee  to  spurn  the  heavenly  Muse's  reign. 

A  different  strain  30 

And  other  themes 

From  her  prophetic  shades  and  hallow'd  streams 
(Thou  well  can'st  witness)  meet  the  purged  ear : 
Such,  as  when  Greece  to  her  immortal  shell 
Rejoicing  listen'd,  godlike  sounds  to  hear ; 

To  hear  the  sweet  instructress  tell 
(While  men  and  heroes  throng'd  around) 
How  life  its  noblest  use  may  find, 
How  well  for  freedom  be  resign'd ; 
And  how,  by  glory,  virtue  shall  be  crown'd.  40 

II.   1. 

Such  was  the  *  Chian  father's  strain 
To  many  a  kind  domestic  train, 
Whose  pious  hearth  and  genial  bowl 
Had  cheer'd  the  reverend  pilgrim's  soul : 
When,  every  hospitable  rite 
With  equal  bounty  to  requite, 

He  struck  his  magic  strings ; 
And  pour'd  spontaneous  numbers  forth,  48 

And  seized  their  ears  with  tales  of  ancient  worth, 
And  fill'd  their  musing  hearts  with  vast  heroic  things, 
*  Homer. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  55 

II.  2. 

Now  oft,  where  happy  spirits  dwell, 

'Where  yet  he  tunes  his  charming  shell, 
Oft  near  him,  with  applauding  hands, 
The  Genius  of  his  country  stands. 
To  listening  gods  he  makes  him  known, 
That  MAN  DIVINE  by  whom  were  sown 

The  seeds  of  Grecian  fame  : 

Who  first  the  race  with  freedom  fired ;  58 

From  whom  *  LYCURGUS  Sparta's  sons  inspired ; 
From  whom  Platsean  palms  and  Cyprian  trophies  came. 

Verse  59.  —    3     *  Lycurgus  the  Lacedaemonian 

law-giver  brought  into  Greece  from  Asia  Minor,  the  first  complete  copy 
of  Homer's  works — At  Plataa  was  fought  the  decisive  battle  between 
the  Persian  army  arid  the  united  militia  of  Greece  under  Pausanias 
and  Aristides. — Cimon,  the  Athenian,  erected  a  trophy  in  Cyprus  for 
two  great  victories  gained  on  the  same  day  over  the  Persians  by  sea 
and  land.  Diodoms  Siculus  has  preserved  the  inscription  which  the 
Athenians  affixed  to  the  consecrated  spoils,  after  this  great  success; 
in  which  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  the  greatness  of  the  occasion 
has  raised  the  manner  of  expression  above  the  usual  simplicity  and 
modesty  of  all  other  ancient  inscriptions.  It  is  this  : 

E3.  OY.  r .  EYPQITHN.  ASIAS.  AIXA.  IIONTOS.  ENEIME. 

KAI.  IIOAEAS.  0NHTON.  ©OYPOS.  APHS.  ETIEXEI, 

OYAEN.  rm.  TOIOYTON-  EniXeONIQN.  rENET5.  ANAPQN. 

EPFON.  EN.  HIIEIPai.  KAI.  KATA.  nONTON.  AMA. 

OIAE.  TAP.  EN.  KYIIPai.  MHAOYZ.  HOAAOYS. 

OAESANTES. 

OOINIKQN.  EKATON.  NAYS.  EAON.  EN.  ITEAArEl. 
ANAPftN.  IIAH0OYIA2.  META.  A3.  ElTENEN.  ASIS. 

Yn'.  AYTON. 

nAHFEIL'.  AMOOTEPAIS.  XEPSI.  KPATEI.  nOAEMOY. 
The  following  translation  is  almost  literal : 

Since  first  the  sea  from  Asia's  hostile  coast 

Divided  Furopc,  and  the  god  of  war 

Assail'd  imperious  cities ;  never  yet, 

At  once  amid  the  waves  and  on  the  shore, 

Hath  such  .a  labour  been  atchieved  by  men 

Who  earth  inhabit.     They,  whose  arms  the  Medes 

In  Cyprus  felt  pernicious, 'they,  the  same, 

Have  won  from  skilful  Tyre  an  hundred  ships 

Crowded  with  warriors.     Asia  groans,  in  both 

Her  hands  sore  smitten,  by  the  might -of  war. 


5-6  ODE    XVIII. 

II.     3. 

O  noblest,  happiest  age  ! 
When  ARISTIDES  rulM,  and  CIMON  fought ; 
When  all  the  generous  fruits  of  HOMER'S  page 
Exulting  *  PINDAR  saw  to  full  perfection  brought. 
O  PINDAR,  oft  shalt  thou  be  hail'd  of  me : 
Not  that  APOLLO  fed  thee  from  his  shrine ; 
Not  that  thy  lips  drank  sweetness  from  the  bee ; 
Nor  yet  that,  studious  of  thy  notes  divine, 
PAN  danced  their  measure  with  the  sylvan  throng  i 

Verse  64.  ]  *  Pindar  was  cotemporary  with  Aristides  and  Cimon, 
in  whom  the  glory  of  ancient  Greece,  was  at  its  height.  When  Xer- 
xes invaded  Greece,  Pindar  was  true  to  the  common  interest  of  his 
country  *  though  his  fellow  citizens,  the  Thebans,  had  sold  them- 
selves to  the  Persian  king.  In  one  of  his  odes  he  expresses  the  great 
distress  and  anxiety  of  his  mind,  occasioned  by  the  vast  preparations 
of  Xerxes  against  Greece  (Isthm.  8.)  In  another  he  celebrates  the 
victories  of  Salamis,  Plat&a,  and  Himera.  (  Pyth.  1.  )  It  will  be 
necessary  to  add  two  or  three  other  particulars  of  his  life,  real  or 
fabulous,  in  order  to  explain  what  follows  in  the  text  concerning  him. 
First  then,  he  was  thought  to  be  so  great  a  favourite  of  Apollo,  that 
the  priests  of  that  deity  allotted  him  a  constant  share  of  their  offer- 
ings. Tt  was  said  of  him,  as  of  some  other  illustrious  men,  that  at 
his  birth  a  swarm  of  bees  lighted  on  his  lips,  and  fed  him  with  their 
honey.  It  was  also  a  tradition  concerning  him,  that  Pan  \\as  heard 
to  recite  his  poetry,  and  seen  dancing  to  one  of  his  hymns  on  the 
mountains  near  Thebes.  But  a  real  historical  fact  in  his  life  is,  that 
the  Thebans  imposed  a  large  fine  upon  him  on  account  of  the  ven- 
eration which  he  expressed  in  his  poems  for  that  heroic  spirit,  shewn 
by  the  people  of  Athens  in  defence  of  the  common  liberty,  which  his 
own  fellDw  citizens  had  shamefully  betrayed.  And,  as  the  argument 
of  this  ode  implies,  that  great  poetical  talents,  and  high  sentiments  of 
liberty,  do  reciprocally  produce  and  assist  each  other,  so  Pindar  is  per- 
haps the  most  exemplary  proof  of  this  connection,  which  occurs  in 
history.  The  Thebans  were  remarkable,  in  general,  for  a  slavish  dis- 
position through  all  the  fortunes  of  their  common-wealth;  at  the 
time  of  its  ruin  by  Philip ;  and  even  in  its  best  state,  under  the  ad- 
ministration of  Pclopidas  and  Fpaminondas:  and  every  one 'knows, 
they  were  no  less  remarkable  for  great  dulness,  and  want  of  all  gen- 
ius. That  Pindar  should  have  equally  distinguished  himself  from 
the  rest  of  his  fellow  citizens  in  both  these  respects,  seems  some- 
what extraordinarj',  and  is  scarce  to  be  accounted  for  but  by  the  pr.e< 
ceding  observation. 


BOOK    THE    FIRST.  57 

But  that  thy  song  7O 

Was  proud  to  unfold 

What  thy  base  rulers  trembled  to  behold ; 
Amid  corrupted  Thebes  was  proud  to  tell 
The  deeds  of  Athens  and  the  Persian  shame  : 
Hence  on  thy  head  their  impious  vengeance  fell. 

But  thou,  O  faithful  to  thy  fame, 

The  MUSE'S  law  didst  rightly  know ; 

That  who  would  animate  his  lays> 

And  other  minds  to  virtue  raise, 
Must  feel  his  own  with  all  her  spirit  glow.  80 

III.     1. 
Are  there,  approved  of  later  times, 

Whose  verse  adorn'd  a  *  tyrant's  crimes  ? 
Who  saw  majestic  Rome  betray 'd, 
And  lent  the  imperial  ruffian  aid  ? 
Alas  !  not  one  polluted  Bard, 
No,  not  the  strains  that  Mincius  heard, 

Or  Tibur's  hills  replied, 
Dare  to  the  Muse's  ear  aspire ; 
Save  that,  instructed  by  the  Grecian  lyre, 
With  FREEDOM'S  ancient  notes  their  shameful  task  they 

hide.  90 

III.     2. 
Mark,  how  the  dread  PANTHEON  stands, 

Amid  the  domes  of  modern  hands  : 
Amid  the  toys  of  idle  state, 
How  simply,  how  severely  great  ! 
Then  turn,  and,  while  each  western  clime 
Presents  her  tuneful  sons  to  Time, 
So  mark  thou  MILTON'S  name  ; 
*  Octavianus  Caesar. 


58  ODE     XVIII. 

And  add,  "  Thus  differs  from  the  throng 
"  The  spirit  which  informed  thy  awful  song,  99 

"  Which  bade  thy  potent  voice  protect  *  thy  country's 
"  fame/' 

III.     3. 

Yet  hence  barbaric  zeal 
His  memory  with  unholy  rage  pursues  : 

While  from  these  arduous  cares  of  public  weal 
She  bids  each  Bard  begone,  and  rest  him  with  his  Muse, 
O  fool !  to  think  the  man,  whose  ample  mind 
Must  grasp  at  all  that  yonder  stars  survey  ; 
Must  join  the  noblest  Forms  of  every  kind,        , 
The  world's  most  perfect  image  to  diplay, 
Can  e'er  his  country's  majesty  behold, 

Unmoved  or  cold  !  110 

O  fool !  to  deem 

That  he,  whose  thought  must  visit  every  theme, 
Whose  heart  must  every  strong  emotion  know 
Inspired  by  Nature,  or  by  Fortune  taught ; 
That  he,  if  haply  some  presumptuous  foe, 
With  false  ignoble  science  fraught, 
Shall  spurn  at  FREEDOM'S  faithful  band  j 
That  he  their  dear  defence  will  shun, 
Or  hide  their  glories  from  the  sun,  1 19 

Or  deal  their  vengeance  with  a  woman's  hand  ! 

IV.     1. 
I  care  not  that  in  Arno's  plain 

Or  on  the  sportive  banks  of  Seine, 
From  public  themes  the  Muse's  quire, 

Verse  100.]  *  Alluding  to  his  Defence  of  the  people  of  England 
against  Salmasius.  See  particularly  the  manner  in  which  he  him- 
self speaks  of  that  undertaking,  in  the  introduction  to  his  reply  to 

MQTUS. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  59 

Content  with  polish'd  ease  retire, 

Where  priests  the  studious  head  command, 

Where  tyrants  bow  the  warlike  hand 

To  vile  ambition's  aim, 
Say,  what  can  public  themes  afford, 
Save  venal  honours  to  a  hateful  lord,  1 29 

Reserved  for  angry  heaven  and  scorn 'd  of  honest  fame  ? 

IV.     2. 

But  here,  where  FREEDOM'S  equal  throne 
To  all  her  valiant  sons  is  known  ; 
Where,  all  are  conscious  of  her  cares, 
And  each  the  power' that  rules  him,  shares  j 
Here  let  the  Bard,  whose  dastard  tongue 
Leaves  public  arguments  unsung, 

Bid  public  praise  farewel : 
Let  him  to  fitter  climes  remove, 
Far  from  the  hero's  and  the  patriot's  love,  139 

And  lull  mysterious  monks  to  slumber  in  their  cell. 

IV.     3. 

O  HASTINGS,  not  to  all 
Can  ruling  Heaven  the  same  endowments  lend  : 

Yet  still  doth  Nature  to  her  offspring  call, 
That  to  one  GENERAL  WEAL  their  different  powers  they 

bend, 

Unenvious.     Thus  alone,  though  strains  divine 
Inform  the  bosom  of  the  Muse's  son ; 
Though  with  new  honours  the  patrician's  line 
Advance  from  age  to  age ;  yet  thus  alone 
They  win  the  suffrage  of  impartial  fame. 

The  poet's  name  150 

He  best  shall  prove, 
Whose  lays  the  soul  with  noblest  passions  move. 


60  ODE    XVIII. 

But  thee,  O  progeny  of  heroes  old, 

Thee  to  severer  toils  thy  fate  requires : 

The  fate  which  form'd  thee  in  a  chosen  mould 

The  grateful  country  of  thy  sires, 

Thee  to  sublimer  paths  demand  ; 

Sublimer  than  thy  sires  could  trace. 

Or  thy  own  *  EDWARD  teach  his  race,  159 

Though  Gaul's  proud  Genius  sank  beneath  his  hand. 

V.     1. 
From  rich  domains  and  subject  farms, 

They  led  the  rustic  youth  to  arms ; 
And  kings  their  stern  atchievements  fear'd ; 
While  private  strife  their  banners  rear'd. 
But  loftier  scenes  to  thee  are  shown, 
Where  empire's  wide -established  throne 

No  private  master  fills  : 

Where,  long  foretold,  the  People  reigns  :  168 

Where  each  a  vassal's  humble  heart  disdains ; 
And  judge th  what  he  sees ;  and,  as  he  judgeth,  wills. 

V.    2. 
Here,  be  it  thine  to  calm  and  guide ; 

The  swelling  democratic  tide  ; 
To  watch  the  state's  uncertain  frame. 
And  baffle  Faction's  partial  aim  : 
But  chiefly,  with  determin'd  zeal, 
To  quell  that  servile  band,  who  kneel 

To  freedom's  banish'd  foes  ; 

That  monster,  which  is  daily  found  178 

Expert  and  bold  thy  country's  peace  to  wound ; 
Yet  dreads  to  handle  arms,  nor*manly  counsel  knows. 

Verse  159.]  *  Edward  the  third ;  from  whom  descended  Henry 
Hastings,  third  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  by  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  brother  to  Edward  the  Fourth. 


BOOK   THE   FIRST.  tfl 

V.  3. 

'Tis  highest  Heaven's  command, 

That  guilty  aims  should  sordid  paths  pursue ; 

That  what  ensnares  the  heart  should  maim  the  hand, 
And  virtue's  worthless  foes  be  false  to  glory  too. 
But  look  on  FUEEDOM.     See,  through  every  age, 
What  labotfrs,  perils,  griefs,  hath  she  disdain'd ! 
What  arms,  what  regal  pride,  \vhat  priestly  rage, 
Have  her  dread  offspring  conquer'd  or  sustained  ! 
For  Albion  well  have  conquer'd.     Let  the  strains 

Of  happy  swains,  1 90 

Which  now  resound 

Where  *Scarsdale's  clifls  the  swelling  pastures  bound, 
Bear  witness.     There,  oft  let  the  farmer  hail 
The  sacred  orchard  which  embowers  his  gate, 
And  shew  to  strangers  passing  down  the  vale, 
Where  CANDISH,  BOOTH,  and  OSBOKNE  sate ; 
When  bursting  from  their  country's  chain, 
Even  in  the  midst  of  deadly  harms, 
Of  papal  snares  and  lawless  arms, 
They  plann'd  for  Freedom  this  her  noblest  reign.    200 

VI.  1. 

This  reign,  these  laws,  this  public  care, 

Which  NASSAU  gave  us  all  to  share, 
Had  ne'er  adorn'd  the  English  name, 
Could  Fear  have  silenced  Freedom's  claim. 
But  Fear  in  vain  attempts  to  bind 
Those  lofty  efforts  of  the  mind 

*  V.  191.]  At  irhittingtvn>  a  village  on  the  edge  of  Scarsdate  in 
Derbyshire,  the  Earls  of  Devonshire  and  Danby,  with  the  Lord  Del- 
nmerc,  privately  concerted  the  plan  of  the  Revolution.  The  house 
in  which  they  met  is  at  present  a  Farm-house,  and  the  country  peo- 
ple distinguish  the  room  vUjere  they  sat,  by  the  name  of  the  plotting 
farlottr. 

Ff 


62  ODE    XVIIL 

Which  social  good  inspires  ; 
Where  men,  for  this,  assault  a  throne, 
Each  adds  the  common  welfare  to  his  own ;  209 

And  each  unconquer'd  heart  the  strength  of  all  acquires. 

VI.  ,2. 

Say,  was  it  thus,  when  late  we  view'd 
Our  fields  in  civil  blood  imbrued  ? 
WThen  fortune  crown'd  the  barbarous  host, 
And  half  the  astonished  isle  was  lost  ? 
Did  one  of  all  their  vaunting  train, 
Who  dare  affront  a  peaceful  reign, 

Durst  one  in  arms  appear  ? 
Durst  one  in  counsels  pledge  his  life  ? 
Stake  his  luxurious  fortunes  in  the  strife  ?  219 

Or  lend  his  boasted  name  his  vagrant  friends  to  cheer  ? 

VI.   3. 

Yet,  HASTINGS,  these  are  they 
Who  challenge  to  themselves  thy  country's  love ; 
The  true  ;  the  constant :  who  alone  can  weigh, 
What  glory  should  demand,  or  liberty  approve  ! 
But  let  their  works  declare  them.     Thy  free  powers, 
The  generous  powers  of  thy  prevailing  mind, 
Not  for  the  tasks  of  their  confederate  hours, 
Lewd  brawls  and  lurking  slander,  were  designed. 
Be  thou  thy  own  approver.     Honest  praise 

Oft  nobly  sways  230 

Ingenuous  youth  : 

But  sought  from  cowards  and  the  lying  mouth, 
Praise  is  reproach.     Eternal  God  alone 
For  mortals  fixeth  that  sublime  award. 
He,  from  the  faithful  records  of  his  throne, 
Bids  the  Historian  arid  the  Bard 


BOOKTHEFIRST.  63 

Dispose  of  honour  and  of  scorn  ; 
Discern  the  patriot  from  the  slave ; 
And  write  the  GOOD,  the  WISE,  the  BRAVE, 
For  lessons  to  the  multitude  unborn.  240 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  FIRST, 


O    D    E    S, 

BOOK    THE    SECOND. 


O  D  E    I. 

THE  REMONSTRANCE  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 

Supposed  to   hav$   been  spoken  at   the  Theatre  Royal, 
while  the  French  Comedians  were  acting  by  Subscription. 

MDCCXLIX. 

IF,  yet  regardful  of  your  native  land, 

Old  SHAKESPEARE'S  tongue  you  deign  to  understandv 

Lo,  from  the  blissful  bowers  where  Heaven  rewards 

Instructive  sages  and  unblemish'd  bards, 

I  come,  the  ancient  founder  of  the  stage* 

Intent  to  learn,  in  this  discerning  age, 

What  form  of  wit  your  fancies  have  embraced^ 

And  whither  tends  your  elegance  of  taste, 

That  thus  at  length  our  homely  toils  you  spurn, 

That  thus  to  foreign  scenes  you  proudly  turn,  10 

That  from  my  brow  the  laurel  wreath  you  claim 

To  crown  the  rivals  of  your  country's  fame. 

What,  though  the  footsteps  of  my  devious  Muse, 
The  measured  walks  of  Grecian  art  refuse ; 
Or  though  the  frankness  of  my  hardy  style 
Mock  the  nice  touches  of  the  critic's  file  ? 
Yet,  what  my  age  and  climate  held  to  view, 
Impartial  I  survey'd,  and  fearless  drew. 


SOOK   THE   SECOND.  65 

And  say,  ye  skilful  in  the  human  heart, 
Who  know  to  prize  a  Poet's  noblest  part,  20 

What  age;  what  clime,  could  e'er  an  ampler  field 
For  lofty  thought,  for  daring  fancy,  yield  ? 
I  saw  this  England  break  the  shameful  bands 
Forged  for  the  souls  of  men  by  sacred  hands : 
I  saw  each  groaning  realm  her  aid  implore ; 
Her  sons  the  heroes  of  each  warlike  shore ; 
Her  NAVAL  STANDARD  (the  dire  Spaniard's  bane) 
Obey'd  through  all  the  circuit  of  the  main. 
Then  too  great  COMMERCE,  for  a  late-found  world, 
Around  your  coast  her  eager  sails  unfurl'd  :  30 

New  hopes,  new  passions,  thence  the  bosom  fired ; 
New  plans,  new  arts,  the  genius  thence  inspired  ; 
Thence,  every  scene  which  PRIVATE  FORTUNE  knows, 
In  stronger  life,  with  bolder  spirit,  rose, 

Disgraced  I  this  full  prospect  which  I  drew  ? 
My  colours  languid,  or  my  strokes  untrue  ? 
Have  not  your  SAGES,  WARRIORS,  SWAINS,  and  KINGS, 
Confess'd  the  living  draught  of  men  and  things  ? 
What  other  Bard  in  any  clinoe  appears 
Alike  the  master  of  your  smiles  and  tears?  40 

Yet  have  I  deign'd  your  audience  to  entice 
With  wretched  bribes  to  luxury  and  vice  ? 
Or  have  my  various  scenes  a  purpose  known 
Which  FREEDOM,  VIRTUE,  GLORY,  might  not  own  ? 

Such  from  the  first  was  my  dramatic  plan ; 
It  should  be  yours  to  crown  what  I  began  : 
And  now  that  England  spurns  her  Gothic  chain, 
And  equal  laws  and  social  science  reign, 
I  thought,  Now  surely  shall  my  zealous  eyes 

\riew  nobler  BARDS  and  juster  CRITICS  rise,  50 

Ff2 


66  ODE     L 

Intent  with  learned  labour  to  refine 

The  copious  ore  of  Albion's  native  Mine, 

Our  stately  Muse  more  graceful  airs  to  teach,. 

And  form  her  tongue  to  more  attractive  speech, 

Till  rival  nations  listen  at  her  feet, 

And  own  her  polish'd  as  they  own'd  her  great. 

But  do  you  thus  my  favourite  hopes  fulfil  ? 
Is  FRANCE  at  last  the  standard  of  your  skill .? 
Alas  for  you  !  that  so  betray  a  mind 
Of  art  unconscious  and  to  beauty  blind.  60 

Say ;  does  her  language  your  ambition  raise, 
Her  barren,  trivial,  unharmonious  phrase, 
Which  fetters  eloquence  to  scantiest  bounds. 
And  maims  the  cadence  of  poetic  sounds  ? 
Say;  does  your  humble  admiration  chuse 
The  gentle  prattle  of  her  Comic  Muse, 
While  wits,  plain-dealers,  fops,  and  fools  appear, 
Charged  to  say  nought  but  what  the  king  may  hear  ? 
Or  rather  melt  your  sympathizing  hearts 
Won  by  her  tragic  scene's  romantic  arts,  70 

Where  old  and  young  declaim  on  soft  desire, 
And  heroes  never,  but  for  love,  expire  ? 

No.  Though  the  charms  of  novelty,  awhile, 
Perhaps  tco  fondly  win  your  thoughtless  smile, 
Yet  not  for  you  designed  indulgent  fate 
The  modes  or  manners  of  the  Bourbon  state. 
And  ill  your  minds  my  partial  judgment  reads, 
And  many  an  augury  my  hope  misleads, 
If  the  fair  maids  of  yonder  blooming  train 
To  their  light  courtship  would  an  audience  deign,      80 
Or  those  chaste  matrons,  a  Parisian  wife 
Chuse  for  the  model  of  domestic  life ; 


BO  O'K    THE   SECOND.  67 

Or  if  one  youth  of  all  that  generous  band, 
The  strength  and  splendor  of  their  native  land, 
Would  yield  his  portion  of  his  country's  fame, 
And  quit  old  FREEDOM'S  patrimonial  claim, 
With  lying  smiles  oppression's  pomp  to  see, 
And  judge  of  glory  by  a  king's  decree. 

O  blest  at  borne  with  justly-envied  laws, 
O  long  the  chiefs  of  Europe's  general  cause,  90 

Whom  Heaven  hath  chosen  at  each  dangerous  hour 
To  check  the  inroads  of  barbaric  power, 
The  rights  of  trampled  nations  to  reclaim, 
And  guard  the  social  world  from  bonds  and  shame ; 
Oh  let  not  luxury's  fantastic  charms 
Thus  give  the  lie  to  your  heroic  arms  : 
Nor  for  the  ornaments  of  life,  embrace 
Dishonest  lessons  from  that  vaunting  race, 
Whom  fate's  dread  laws  (for,  in  eternal  fate 
Despotic  rule  was  heir  to  freedoms  hate)  100 

Whom  in  each  warlike,  each  commercial  part, 
In  civil  counsel,  and  in  pleading  art, 
The  judge  of  earth  predestined  for  your  foes, 
And  made  it  fame  and  virtue  to  oppose.  104 

ODE    II. 

TO    SLEEP. 

I. 

JL  HOU  SILENT  POWER,  whose  welcome  sway 
Charms  every  anxious  thought  away  ; 
In  whose  divine  oblivion  drownM 
Sore  pain  and  weary  toil  grow  mild, 


68  ODE    If. 

Love  is  with  kinder  looks  beguiled, 
And  grief  forgets  her  fondly-cherish'd  wound; 
Oh  whither  hast  thou  flown,  indulgent  god  ? 
God  of  kind  shadows  and  of  healing  dews, 
Whom  dost  thou  touch  with  thy  Lethaean  rod  ? 
Around  whose  temples  now  thy  opiate  airs  diffuse  ?    1© 

II. 
Lo,  midnight  from  her  starry  reign 

Looks  awful  down  on  earth  and  main. 

The  tuneful  birds  lie  hush'd  in  sleep, 

With  all  that  crop  the  verdant  food, 

With  all  that  skim  the  crystal  flood, 
Or  haunt  the  caverns  of  the  rocky  steep. 
No  rushing  winds  disturb  the  tufted  bowers ; 
No  wakeful  sound  the  moon-light  valley  knows, 
Save  where  the  brook  its  liquid  murmur  pours,        1 9 
And  lulls  the  waving  scene  to  more  profound  repose* 

III.  * 
Oh  let  not  me  alone  complain, 

Alone  invoke  thy  power  in  vain  ! 

Descend,  propitious,  on  my  eyes ; 

Not  from  the  couch  that  bears  a  crown., 

Not  from  the  courtly  statesman's  down, 
Nor  where  the  miser  and  his  treasure  lies  : 
Bring  not  the  shapes  that  break  the  murderer's  rest, 
Nor  those  the  hireling  soldier  loves  to  see,  28 

Nor  those  which  haunt  the  bigot's  gloomy  breast : 
Far  be  their  guilty  nights,  and  far  their  dreams  from  me ! 

IV. 
Nor  yet  those  awful  forms  present, 

For  chiefs  and  heroes  only  meant' : 
The  figured  brass,  the  choral  song, 


,      BOOKTHESECOND.  <S9 

The  rescued  people's  glad  applause, 

The  listening  senate,  and  the  laws 
Fix'd  by  the  counsels  of  *  Timoleon's  tongue, 
Are  scenes  too  grand  for  fortune's  private  ways  ; 
And  though  they  shine  in  youth's  ingenuous  view, 
The  sober  gainful  arts  of  modern  days 
To  such  romantic  thoughts  have  bid  a  long  adieu.      4-0 

V. 

I  ask  not,  GOD  of  DREAMS,  thy  care 

To  banish  LOVE'S  presentments  fair  : 

Nor  rosy  cheek  nor  radiant  eye 
'     Can  arm  him  with  such  strong  command 

That  the  young  sorcerer's  fatal  hand 
Should  round  my  soul  his  pleasing  fetters  tie. 
Nor  yet  the  courtiers  hope,  the  giving  smile 
(A  lighter  phantom,  and  a  baser  chain) 
Did  e'er  in  slumber  my  proud  lyre  beguile  4§ 

To  lend  the  pomp  of  thrones  her  ill-according  strain* 

VI. 

But  MORPHEUS,  on  thy  balmy  wing, 

Such  honourable  visions  bring, 

As  sooth'd  great  MILTON'S  injured  age, 

When  in  prophetic  dreams  he  saw 

The  race  unborn  with  pious  awe 
Imbibe  each  virtue  from  his  heavenly  page : 
Or  such  as  MEAD'S  benignant  fancy  knows 
When  health's  deep  treasures,  by  his  art  explored, 
Have  saved  the  infant  from  an  orphan's  woes, 
Or  to  the  trembling  sire  his  ageVhope  restored.         60 

*  After  Timoleon  had  delivered  Syracuse  from  the  tyranny  of  Dio- 
nysius,  the  people  on.  every  important  deliberation  sent  for  him  into 
the  public  assembly,  asked  his  advice,  and  voted  according  to  it, 

PtUTARCH- 


70  « 

ODE    III. 

TO    THE    C  U  C  K  O  W. 

I. 

• 

V/  rustic  herald  of  the  spring1, 
At  length  in  yonder  woody  vale 
Fa&t  by  the  brook  I  hear  thee  sing ; 
And  studious  of  thy  homely  tale, 
Amid  the  vespers  of  the  grove, 
Amid  the  chaunting  choir  of  love, 
Thy  sage  responses  hail. 

II. 

The  time  has  been  when  I  have  frownM 

To  hear  thy  voice  the  woods  invade ; 
And  while  thy  solemn  accent  drown'd 
Some  sweeter  poet  of  the  shade, 
Thus,  thought  I,  thus  the  sons  of  care 
Some  constant  youth  or  generous  fair 

With  dull  advice  upbraid.  14 

III. 
I  said.  "  While  Philomela's  song 

"  Proclaims  the  passion  of  the  grove, 
"  It  ill  beseems  a  CUCKOW'S  tongue 
"  Her  charming  language  to  reprove"— 
Alas,  how  much  a  lover's  ear 
Hates  all  the  sober  truth  to  hear, 

The  sober  truth  of  love  !  21 

IV. 
When  hearts  are  in  each  other  bless'd, 

When  nought  but  lofty  faith  can  rule 


BOOK    THE  SECOND.  71 

The  nymph's  and  swain's  consenting  breast, 
How  CUCKOW-LIK.E  in  Cupid's  school, 
With  store  of  grave  prudential  saws, 
On  fortune's  power  and  custom's  laws, 
Appears  each  friendly  fool ! 

V. 

Yet  think  betimes,  ye  gentle  train 

Whom  love,  and  hope,  and  fancy,  sway, 
Who  every  harsher  care  disdain, 
Who  by  the  morning  judge  the  day  ; 
Think,  that  in  April's  tairest  hours, 
To  warbling  shades  and  painted  flowers 

The  CUCKOW  joins  his  lay.  35 

ODE     IV. 

TO      THE 

HONOURABLE  CHARLES  TOWNSIIEND 

IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

MDCCL. 

I.    1. 

HoW  oft  shall  I  survey 
This  humble  roof,  the  lawn,  the  greenwood  shade, 

The  vale  with  sheaves  overspread, 
The  glassy  brook,  the  flocks  which  round  thee  stray  ? 

When  will  thy  cheerful  mind 
Of  these  have  utter'd  all  her  dear  esteem  ? 

Or,  tell  rne,  dost  thou  deem 


72  ODE    IV. 

No  more  to  join  in  glory's  toilsome  race, 

But  here  content  embrace 
That  happy  leisure  which  thou  had'st  resign'd  ?          10 

I.  2. 
Alas,  ye  happy  hours, 

When  hooks  and  youthful  sport  the  soul  could  share. 

Ere  one  ambitious  care 
Of  civil  life  had  awed  her  simpler  powers; 

Oft  as  your  winged  train 
Revisit  here  rny  friend  in  white  array, 

Oh  fail  not  to  display 
Each  fairer  scene  where  I  perchance  had  part, 

That  so  his  generous  heart 
The  abode  of  even  friendship  may  remain.  20 

I.  3. 

For  not  imprudent  of  my  loss  to  come, 

I  saw  from  contemplation's  quiet  cell 
His  feet  ascending  to  another  home 
Where  public  praise  and  envied  greatness  dwell. 
But  shall  we  therefore,  O  my  LYRE, 
Reprove  AMBITION'S  best  desire  ? 
Extinguish  GLORY'S  flame  ? 
Far  other  was  the  task  enjoin'd  28 

When  to  my  hand  thy  strings  were  first  assigned  : 
Far  other  faith  belongs  to  friendship's  honoured  name. 

II.  1. 
Thee  TOWNSHEND,  not  the  arms 

Of  slumbering  ease,  nor  pleasure's  rosy  chain, 

Were  destined  to  detain  : 
No,  nor  bright  science,  nor  the  Muse's  charms. 

For  them  high  Heaven  prepares 
Their  proper  votaries,  an  humbler  Band : 


^  THE    SECOND.  73 

And  ne'er  would  SPENSER'S  hand 
Have  deign'd  to  strike  the  warbling  Tuscan  shell, 

Nor  HARRINGTON  to  tell 
What  habit  an  immortal  city  \vears,  *  40 

II.  2, 
Had  THIS,  been  born  to  shield 

The  cause  which  CROMWELL'S  impious  hand  betray 'd, 

Or  THAT,  like  VERE,  displayed 
His  red -cross  banner  o'er  the  Belgian  field. 

Yet  where  the  WILL  DIVINE 
Hath  shut  those  loftiest  paths,  it  next  remains, 

With  Reason,  clad  in  strains 
Of  Harmony,  selected  minds  to  inspire, 

And  VIRTUE'S  living  fire 
To  feed  and  eternize  in  hearts  like  THINE.  50 

II.  3. 

For  never  shall  the  herd,  whom  envy  sways, 

So  quell  my  purpose,  or  my  tongue  control, 
That  I  should  fear  illustrious  WORTH  to  praise, 
Because  its  master's  friendship  moved  my  soul. 
Yet,  if  this  undissembling  strain 
Should  now  perhaps  thine  ear  detain 

\Vith  any  pleasing  sound, 
Remember  thou  that  righteous  FAME 
From  hoary  Age  a  strict  account  will  claim         59 
Of  each  auspicious  palm  with  which  thy  Youth  was 
crown'd. 

III.  1. 
Nor  obvious  is  the  way 

Where  Heaven  expects  thee,  nor  the  traveller  leads, 

Through  flowers  on  fragrant  meads, 
Or  groves  that  hark  to  Philomela's  lay. 


74-  ODE    IV. 

The  impartial  laws  of  fate 
To  nobler  virtues  wed  severer  cares. 

Is  there  a  man  who  shares 
The  summit  next  where  heavenly  natures  dwell  ? 

Ask  him  (for  he  can  tell) 
What  storms  beat  round  that  rough  laborious  height 

III.     2, 
Ye  heroes,  who  of  old 

Did  generous  England  FREEDOM'S  throne  ordain ; 

From  ALFRED'S  parent  reign 
To  NASSAU,  great  deliverer,  wise  and  bold ; 

Tknow  your  perils  hard, 
Your  wounds  your  painful  marches,  wintry  seas, 

The  night  estranged  from  ease, 
The  day  by  cowardice  and  falsehood  vex'd, 

The  head  with  doubt  perplex'd, 
The  indignant  heart  disdaining  the  reward, 

III.  3. 
Which  envy  hardly  grants.     But,  0  RENOWN, 

O  praise  from  judging  Heaven  and  virtuous 

If  thus  they  purchased  thy  divinest  crown, 

Say,  vvho  shall  hesitate  ?  or  who  complain  ? 

And  now  they  sit  on  thrones  above : 

And  when  among  the  gods  they  move 

Before  the  SOVRAN  MIND, 
"  Lo  these/'  he  saith,  "  lo,  these  are  they 
"  Who  to  the  laws  of  mine  eternal  sway 
"  From  violence  and  fear  asserted  human  kind." 

IV.    1. 

Thus  honoured,  while  the  train 

Of  LEGISLATORS  in  his  presence  dwell ; 
If  I  may  aught  foretel, 


BOOKTHESECOND.  75 

The  STATESMAN  shall  the  second  palm  obtain. 

For  dreadful  deeds  of  arms 
Let  vulgar  Bards,  with  undiscerning  praise, 

More  glittering  trophies  raise  : 
But  wisest  Heaven  what  deeds  may  chiefly  move 

To  favour  and  to  love  ?  99 

What,  save  wide  blessings,  or  averted  harms  ? 

IV.     2. 

Nor  to  the  embattled  field 
Shall  these  atchievments  of  the  peaceful  gown 

The  green  immortal  crown 
Of  Valour,  or  the  songs  of  Conquest,  yield. 

Not  FAIRFAX  wildly  bold, 
While  bare  of  crest  he  hew'd  his  fatal  way, 

Through  Nasesby's  firm  array, 
To  heavier  dangers  did  his  breast  oppose, 

Than  PYM'S  free  virtue  chose, 
When  the  proud  force  of  STRAFFORD  he  controlV).     10i) 

IV.   3. 
But  what  is  man,  at  enmity  with  TRUTH  ? 

What  were  the  fruits  of  WENTWORTH'S  copious  mind 
When  (blighted  all  the  promise  of  his  youth) 
The  patriot  in  a  tyrant's  league  had  joined  ? 
Let  IRELAND'S  loud-lamenting  plains, 
Let  TYNE'S  and  HUMBERTS  trampled  swains, 

Let  menaced  LONDON  tell, 
How  impious  Guile  made  Wisdom  base ; 
How  generous  Zeal  to  cruel  Rage  gave  place ;  1 1 9 
And  how  unblessed  he  lived,  and  how  dishonoured  fell. 

V.  l. 
Thence  never  hath  the  MUSE 

Around  his  tomb  Pierian  roses  flung ; 


76  QBE    IV. 

Nor  shall  one  poet's  tongue 
His  name  for  music's  pleasing  labour  chuse. 

And  sure,  when  Nature  kind 
Hath  deck'd  some  favour'd  breast  above  the  throng, 

That  man  with  grievous  wrong 
Affronts  and  wounds  his  genius,  if  he  bends 

To  guilt's  ignoble  ends  12{* 

The  functions  of  his  ill -submitting  mind. 

V.    2. 

For  worthy  of  the  wise 

Nothing  can  seem  but  virtue ;  nor  earth  yield 

Their  fame  an  equal  field, 
Save  where,  impartial,  FREEDOM  gives  the  prize. 

There  SOMERS  fix'd  his  name, 
Inroll'd  the  next  to  WILLIAM.     There  shall  TIME 

To  every  wondering  clime 
Point  out  that  SOMERS,  who  from  Faction's  crowd, 

The  slanderous  and  the  loud,  139 

Could  fair  assent  and  modest  reverence  claim, 

V.  3. 
Nor  aught  did  laws  or  social  arts  acquire,. 

Nor  this  MAJESTIC  WEAL  of  Albion's  land 
Bid  aught  accomplish,  or  to  aught  aspire, 
Without  HIS  guidance,  HIS  superior  hand. 
And  rightly  shall  the  Muse's  care 
Wreaths  like  her  own  for  HIM  prepare, 

Whose  mind's  inamour'd  aim 
Could  Forms  of  civil  beauty  draw, 
Sublime  as  ever  sage  or  poet  saw,  149 

Yet  still  to  life's  rude  scene  the  .proud  ideas  tame. 

VI.   1. 
Let  none  prophane  be  near  ! 

The  Muse  was  never  foreign  to  HIS  breast : 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  77 

On  power's  grave  seat  confess Jd, 
Still  to  her  voice  he  bent  a  lover's  ear. 

And  if  the  blessed  know 
Their  antient  cares,  even  now  the  unfading  groves, 

Where  haply  MILTON  roves 
With  SPENSER,  hear  the  inchanted  echoes  round 

Through  farthest  heaven  resound' 
Wise  SOMERS,  guardian  of  their  fame  below.         160 

VI.    2. 

HE  knew,  the  patriot  knew, 
That  LETTERS  and  the  MUSE'S  powerful  art 

Exalt  the  ingenuous  heart, 
And  brighten  every  form  of  Just  and  True. 

THEY  lend  a  nobler  sway 
To  civil  wisdom,  than  corruption's  lure 

Could  ever  yet  procure  : 
THEY  too  from  envy's  pale  malignant  light 

Conduct  her  forth  to  sight 
Cloth'd  in  the  fairest  colours  of  the  day.  170 

VI.    3. 

~O  TOWNSHEND  !  thus  may  TIME,  the  judge  severe, 

Instruct  my  happy  tongue  of  THEE  to  tell  : 
And  when  I  speak  of  one  to  FREEDOM  dear, 
For  planning  wisely  and  for  acting  well, 
Of  one  whom  GLORY  loves  to  own,. 
Who  still  by  liberal  means  alone 
Hath  liberal  ends  pursued ; 
Then,  for  the  guerdon  of  my  lay,  178 

"  This  man  with  faithful  friendship/'  will  I  say, 
"  From  youth  to  honour'd  age  my  arts  and  me  hath 
"  view'd." 

Gg2 


78 

O  D  E    V. 

ON    LOVE    OF    PRAISE. 

L 

\JF  all  the  springs  within  the  mind 
Which  prompt  her  steps  in  fortune's  maze, 

From  none  more  pleasing  aid  we  find 
Than  from  the  genuine  love  of  PRAISE.  4 

ir. 

Nor  any  partial,  private  end 

Such  reverence  to  the  public  bears  ; 

Nor  any  PASSION,  virtue's  friend, 

So  like  to  virtue's  self  appears.  8 

III. 
For  who  in  GLORY  can  delight 

Without  delight  in  glorious  deeds  ? 
What  man  a  charming  voice  can  slight, 

Who  courts  the  echo  that  succeeds  ?  12 

IV. 

But  not  the  echo  on  the  voice 

More,  than  on  Virtue,  PRAISE  depends  ; 
To  which  of  course,  its  real  price 

The  judgement  of  the  praiser  lends.  16- 

V. 

If  PRAISE  then,  with  religious  awe, 

From  the  sole  PERFECT  JUDGE  be  sought, 

A  nobler  aim,  a  purer  law 

Nor  Priest,  nor  Bard,  nor  Sage  hath  taught.    20 
VI. 

With  which  in  character  the  same, 


BOOK    THE    SECOND.  79 

Tho'  in  an  humbler  sphere  it  lies, 
I  count  that  soul  of  human  FAME, 

The  suffrage  of  the  GOOD  and  WESE,  24 

ODE    VI. 

TO    WILLIAM    HALL,    ESQUIRE: 
WITH  THE  WORKS  OF  CHAULIEU, 

I. 

ATTEND  to  CHAULIEU'S  wanton  lyre ; 
While,  fluent  as  the  sky-lark  sings 
When  first  the  morn  allures  its  wings, 
The  EPICURE  his  theme  pursues  : 
And  tell  me  if,  among  the  choir 
Whose  music  charms  the  banks  of  Seine, 
So  full,  so  free,  so  rich  a  strain 

E'er  dictated  the  warbling  Muse.  8 

JL 
Yet  HALL,  while  thy  judicious  ear 

Admires  the  well-dissembled  art 
That  can  such  harmony  impart 
To  the  lame  pace  of  Gallic  rhymes  ; 
While  wit  from  affectation  clear, 
Bright  images,  and  passions  true, 
Recall  to  thy  assenting  view 

The  envied  bards  of  nobler  times ;  16 

III. 
Say,  is  not  oft  his  doctrine  wrong  ? 

This  priest  of  PLEASURE,  who  aspires 
To  lead  us  to  her  sacred  fires, 

*  W.  Hall  was  the  author  of  some  witty,  but  licentious 
which  makes  this  ode  appropriate.     E. 


SO  ODE    VI. 

Knows  he  the  ritual  of  her  shrine ; 

Say,  (her  sweet  influence  to  THY  song 

So  may  the  GODDESS  still  afford) 

Doth  she  consent  to  be  adored 

With  shameless  love  and  frantic  wine  ?  24 

IV. 

Nor  Cato,  nor  Chrysippus  here 

Need  we  in  high  indignant  phrase 

From  their  Elysian  quiet  raise ; 

But  PLEASURE'S  ORACLE  alone 

Consult ;  attentive,  not  severe. 

O  PLEASURE  !  we  blaspheme  not  thee  ; 

Nor  emulate  the  rigid  knee 

Which  bends  but  at  the  STOIC  throne.  32 

V. 

We  own  had  Fate  to  man  assigned 

Nor  sense,  nor  wish  but  what  obey 

Or  Venus  soft  or  Bacchus  gay, 

Then  might  our  BARD'S  voluptuous  creed 

Most  aptly  govern  human-kind  : 

Unless  perchance  what  he  hath  sung 

Of  tortured  joints  and  nerves  unstrung, 

Some  wrangling  heretic  should  plead.  40 

VI. 

But  now  with  all  these  proud  desires 

For  dauntless  Truth  and  honest  J?ame\ 

With  that  strong  master  of  our  frame, 

The  inexorable  judge  within, 

What  can  be  done  ?     Alas,  ye  fires 

Of  love ;  alas,  ye  rosy  smiles, 

Ye  nectar'd  cups  from  happier  soils, 

•— Ye  have  no  bribe  his  grace  to  win.  48 


BOOK    THE    SECOND.  81 

ODE    VII. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND 

BENJAMIN    LORD    BISHOP   OF 
WINCHESTER. 

MDCCLIV* 

I.     1. 

r  OR  toils  which  patriots  have  endured. 
For  treason  quell'd  and  laws  secured, 
In  every  nation  TIME  displays 
The  palm  of  honourable  praise, 
Envy  may  rail ;  and  Faction  fierce 
May  strive  :  but  what,  alas,  can  those 
(Tho'  bold,  yet  blind  and  sordid  foes) 
To  Gratitude  and  Love  oppose, 
To  faithful  story,  and  persuasive  verse  ?  9 

I.  2. 

O  nurse  of  freedom,  ALBION,  say, 

Thou  tamer  of  despotic  sway, 
What  man,  among  thy  sons  around, 
Thus  heir  to  GLORY  hast  thou  found  ? 
What  page,  in  all  thy  annals  bright, 
Hast  thou  with  purer  joy  surveyed 
Than  that  where  TRUTH,  by  HOADLEY'S  aid, 
Shines  through  imposture's  solemn  shade, 
Through  kingly  and  through  sacerdotal  night?       IS 

I.     3. 

To  him  the  TEACHER  bless'd, 

Who  sent  religion,  from  the  palmy  field 


$2  ODE    VII. 

By  Jordan  like  the  morn  to  cheer  the  west, 
And  lifted  up  the  veil  which  heaven  from  earth  con- 

ceal'd, 

To  HOADLY  thus  his  mandate  he  addressed  : 
"  Go  thou,  and  rescue  my  dishonoured  LAW 
"  From  hands  rapacious  and  from  tongues  impure  : 
(t  Let  not  my  peaceful  NAME  be  made  a  lure 
"  Fell  persecution's  mortal  snares  to  aid  : 
"  Let  not  my  WORDS  be  impious  chains  to  draw 
"  The  freeborn  soul  in  more  than  brutal  awe,      29 
"  To  FAITH  without  assent,  ALLEGIANCE  unrepaid." 

II.   1. 
No  cold  or  unperforming  hand 

Was  arm'd  by  Heaven  with  THIS  command. 
The  world  soon  felt  it :  and,  on  high, 
To  WILLIAM'S  ear  with  welcome  joy 
Did  *  LOCKE  among  the  blest  unfold 
The  rising  hope  of  HOADLEY'S  name. 
GODOLPHIN  then  confirmed  the  same  ; 
And  SOMERS,  when  from  earth  he  came,          39 
And  generous  STANHOPE  the  fair  sequel  told. 

II.  2. 
Then  drew  the  lawgivers  around, 

(Sires  of  the  Grecian  name  renown'd) 
And  listening  ask'd,  and  wondering  knew 
What  private  force  could  thus  subdue 
The  vulgar  and  the  great  combined; 

*  V.  35-3  Mr.  Ijocke  died  in  1704,  when  Mr.  Hoadly  was  be- 
ginning to  distinguish  himself  in  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  lib- 
erty: Lord  Godolphin  in  1712,  when  the  doctrines  of  the  Jacobite 
faction  were  chiefly  favoured  by  those  in  power :  Lord  Sowers  in 
1716,  amid  the  practices  of  the  nonjuring  clergy  against  the  pro- 
testant  establishment ;  and  Lord  Stanhope  in  1721,  during  th,e  coa~ 
troversy  with  the  lower  house  of  convocation. 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.      ,          S3 

<?ould  war  with  sacred  folly  wage  ; 
Could  a  whole  nation  disengage 
From  the  dread  bonds  of  many  an  age, 
And  to  new  habits  mould  the  PUBLIC  MIND.         48 

II.  3. 

For  not  a  conqueror's  sword, 

Nor  the  strong  powers  to  civil  founders  known, 
Were  HIS  :  but  TRUTH  by  faithful  search  explored 

And  social  sense,  like  seed,  in  genial  plenty  sown, 
Wherever  it  took  root,  the  soul  (restored 
To  freedom)  freedom  too  for  others  sought. 
Not  monkish  craft  the  tyrant's  claim  divine, 
Not  regal  zeal  the  bigot's  cruel  shrine 
Could  longer  guard  from  REASON'S  warfare  sage; 
Not  the  wild  rabble  to  sedition  wrought, 
Nor  Synods  by  the  papal  Genius  taught, 

jNTor  St.  John's  spirit  loose,,  nor  Atterbury's  rage.      t>O 

III.  1. 

But  where  shall  recompence  be  found  ? 
Or  how  such  arduous  merit  crown'd  ? 
For  look  on  life's  laborious  scene  : 
What  rugged  spaces  lie  between 
Adventurous  VIRTUE'S  early  toils 
And  lier  triumphal  throne  !     The  shade 
Of  death,  mean  time,  does  oft  invade 
Her  progress ;  nor,  to  us  displayed, 
Wears  the  bright  HEROINE  her  expected  spoils.  69 

III.  2. 

Yet  born  to  conquer  is  HER  power  : 
— O  HOADLY,  if  that  favourite  hour 
On  earth  arrive,  with  thankful  awe 
We  own  just  Heaven's  indulgent  law., 


4  ODE    VIII. 

And  proudly  thy  success  behold  ; 
^     We  attend  thy  reverend  length  of  days 
With  benediction  and  with  praise, 
And  hail  thee  in  our  public  ways 
Like  some  GREAT  SPIRIT  famed  in  ages  old.         -78 

III.     3. 
While  thus  our  vows  prolong 

Thy  steps  on  earth,  and  when  by  us  resign 'd  81 
Thou  join'st  thy  seniors,  that  heroic  throng 

Who  rescued  or  preserved  the  rights  of  human-kind, 
O  !   not  unworthy  may  thy  Albion's  tongue 
Thee  still,  her  friend  and  benefactor,  name  : 
O  !  never,  HOADLY>  in  thy  country's  eyes, 
May  impious  gold,  or  pleasure's  gaudy  prize, 
Make  public  virtue,  public  freedom,  vile ; 
Nor  our  own  manners  tempt  us  to  disclaim 
That  HERITAGE,  our  noblest  wealth  and  fame, 

Which  THOU  hast  kept  entire  from  Force  and  Faction's 
guile.  9® 


ODE     VIIL 


I. 

IF  rightly  tuneful  Bards  decide, 
If  it  be  fix'd  in  LOVE'S  decrees, 

That  BEAUTY  ought  not  to  be  tried 
But  by  its  native  POWER  TO  PLEASE, 

Then  tell  me,  youths  and  lovers,  tell> 

What  fair  can  AMORET  excel  ? 


BOOK   THE  SECOND.  85 

II. 
Behold  that  bright  unsullied  smile, 

And  wisdom  speaking  in  her  mien : 
Yet  (she  so  artless  all  4:he  while, 

So  little  studious  to  be  seen) 
We  nought  but  instant  gladness  know, 
Nor  think  to  whom  the  gift  we  owe.  12 

III. 

But  neither  music,  nor  the  powers 

Of  youth  and  mirth  and  frolic  cheer, 
Add  half  that  sunshine  to  the  hours, 

Or  make  life's  prospect  half  so  clear, 
As  memory  brings  it  to  the  eye 
From  scenes  where  AMORET  was  by.  1 8 

IV. 

Yet  not  a  Satirist  could  there 

Or  fault  or  indiscretion  find ; 
Nor  any  prouder  Sage  declare 

One  virtue,  pictured  in  his  mind, 
Whose  Form  with  lovelier  colours  glows 
Than  AMORET'S  demeanor  shows.  24 

V. 
This  sure  is  BEAUTY'S  happiest  part : 

This  gives  the  most  unbounded  sway  : 
This  shall  inchant  the  subject  heart 

When  rose  and  lily  fade  away; 
And  she  be  still,  in  spite  of  time, 
Sweet  AMORET  in  all  her  prime.  .       30 


Hh 


86 

ODE    IX. 

AT    .STUDY. 

I. 

W  HITHER  did  my  fancy  stray  ? 
By  what  magic  drawn  away 

Have  I  left  my  studious  theme  ? 
From  the  philosophic  page, 
From  the  problems  of  the  sage, 

Wandering  thro*  a  pleasing  dream  ?  Q 

II. 
*Tis  in  vain,  alas  !  I  find, 

Much  in  vain,  my  zealous  mind 
Would  to  learned  Wisdom's  throne 

Dedicate  each  thoughtful  hour  : 

Nature  bids  a  softer  power " 

Claim  some  minutes  for  his  own,  12 

III. 

Let  the  busy  or  the  wise 

View  him  with  contemptuous  eyes ; 

LOVE  is  native  to  the  heart : 
Guide  its  wishes  as  you  will ; 
Without  LOVE  you'll  find  it  still 

Void  in  one  essential  part.  1 8 

IV. 

Me,  though  no  peculiar  fair 

Touches  with  a  lover's  care  ; 

Though  the  pride  of  my  desire 
Asks  immortal  friendship's  name, 
Asks  the  palm  of  honest  fame, 

And  the  old  heroic  lyre ;  24- 


BOOK  THE    SECOND,  87 

V. 

Though  the  day  have  smoothly  gone, 

Or  to  lettered  leisure  known, 

Or  in  social  duty  spent ; 
Yet  at  eve  my  lonely  breast 
Seeks  in  vain  for  perfect  rest ; 

Languishes  for  true  content.  30 


O  D  E     X. 

T  O 
THOMAS   EDWARDS,    ESQUIRE: 

ON      THE     LATE     EDITION     OF 

MR.    POPE'S    WORKS. 
MDCCLI. 
I. 

.DELIEVE  me,  EDWARDS,  to  restrain 
The  licence  of  a  railer's  tongue 
Is  what  but  seldom  men  obtain 
toy  DC»S«  or  wit,  by  prose  or  song  : 
A  task  for  more  Herculean  powers, 
Nor  suited  to  the  sacred  hours 
Of  leisure  in  the  Muse's  bowers. 

II. 

In  bowers  where  laurel  weds  with  palm, 

The  Muse,  the  blameless  queen,  resides  : 
Fair  Fame  attends,  and  Wisdom  calm 
Her  eloquence  harmonious  guides : 
While,  shut  for  ever  from  her  gate, 


88  O  B  E    X. 

Oft  trying,  still  repining,  wait 

Fierce  Envy  and  calumnious  Hate.  14 

III. 
Who  then  from  HER  delightful  bounds 

Would  step  one  moment  forth  to  heed 

What  impotent  and  savage  sounds 

From  their  unhappy  mouths  proceed  ? 

No  :  rather  SPENCER'S  lyre  again 

Prepare,  and  let  thy  pious  strain 

For  POPE'S  dishonoured  shade  complain.  21 

IV. 

Tell  how  displeased  was  every  Bard, 

When  lately  in  the  Elysian  grove 
They  of  his  Muse's  guardian  heard, 
His  delegate  to  fame  above ; 
And  what  with  one  accord  they  said 
Of  wit  in  drooping  age  misled, 
s    And  WARBU^TON'S  officious  aid  :*  28 

V. 

How  VIRGIL  mourn'd  the  sordid  fate 

To  that  melodious  lyre  assign'd 
Beneath  a  tutor  who  so  late 
With  MIDAS  and  his  rout  combine*! 
By  spiteful  clamor  to  confound 

*  V.  28.  During  Mr.  Pope's  war  with  Theobald,  Coneancn,  and 
the  rest  of  their  tribe,  Mr.  Wrarburton>  the  present  Lord  Bishop  of 
Gloucester,  did  with  great  zeal  cultivate  their  friendship;  having 
been  introduced,  forsooth,  at  the  meetings  of  that  respectable  con- 
federacy :  a  favour  which  he  afterwards  spoke  of  in  very  high  terms 
of  complacency  and  thankfulness.  At  the  same  time  in  his  inter- 
course with  them  he  treated  Mr.  Pope  in  a  most  contemptuous  man- 
ner, and  as  a  writer  without  genius.  Of  the  truth  of  these  assertions 
his  Lordship  can  have  no  doubt,  if  he  recollect  his  own  correspond- 
ence with  Concanen ;  a  part  of  which  is  still  in  being,  and  will  pro- 
bably be  remembered  as  long  as  any  of  this  prelate's  writings. 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  89 

That  very  LYRE'S  enchanting  sound, 

Though  listening  realms  admired  around  :          35 

VI. 

How  HORACE  own'd  he  thought  the  fire 

Of  his  friend  POPE'S  satiric  line 

Did  farther  fuel  scarce  require 

From  such  a  militant  divine  : 

How  MILTON  scorn'd  the  sophist  vain 

Who  durst  approach  his  hallow'd  strain 

With  unwash'd  hands  and  lips  profane.  42 

VII. 
Then  SHAKESPEARE  dehonnair  and  mild 

Brought  that  strange  comment  forth  to  view; 

Conceits  more  deep,  he  said  and  smiled, 

Than  his  own  fools  or  madmen  knew ; 

But  thank  Jd  a  generous  friend  above, 

Who  did  with  free  adventurous  love 

Such  pageants  from  his  tomb  remove.  4-9 

VIIL  ; 

And  if  to  POPE,  in  equal  need, 

The  sime  kind  office  thou  would'st  pay, 

Then  EDWARDS,  all  the  Band  decreed 

That  future  Barcls  with  frequent  lay 

Should  call  on  thy  auspicious  name, 

From  each  absurd  intruder's  claim 

To  keep  inviolate  their  Fame.  56 


II  h  2 


ODE    XL 

TO    THE 

COUNTRY    GENTLEMEN 
OF    ENGLAND. 

MDCCLVIIL 

I. 

WfflTHER  is  Europe's  ANCIENT  spirit  fled  ? 
Where  are  those  valiant  tenants  of  her  shore, 
Who  from  the  warrior  bow  the  strong  dart  sped^ 
Or  with  firm  hand  the  rapid  pole-ax  bore  ? 
FREEMAN  and  SOLDIER  was  their  common  name ; 
Who  late  with  reapers  to  the  furrow  came, 
Now  in  the  front  of  battle  charged  the  foe  : 
Who  taught  the  steer  the  wintry  plough  to  indure, 
Now  in  full  councils  checked  incroaching  power,       9 
And  gave  the  GUARDIAN  LAWS  their  majesty  to  know, 

II. 

But  who  are  ye  ?  from  Ebro's  loitering  sons 

To  Tiber's  pageants*  to  the  sports  of  Seine  ; 
From  Rhine's  frail  palaces  to  Danube's  thrones 
And  cities  looking  on  the  Cimbric  main, 
Ye  lost,  ye  self-deserted  ?  whose  proud  lords 
Have  baffled  your  tame  hands,  and  given  your  swords 
To  slavish  ruffians,  hired  for  their  command  : 
These  at  some  greedy  monk's  or  harlot's  nod, 
See  rifled  nations  crouch  beneath  their  rod  :  10 

These  are  the  PUBLIC  WILL,  the  REASON  of  the  land* 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  £1 

III. 
Thou,  heedless  ALBION,  what,  alas,  the  while 

Dost  thou  presume  ?   O  inexpert  in  arms, 
Yet  vain  of  FREEDOM,  how  dost  thou  beguile, 
With  dreams  of  hope,  these  near  and  loud  alarms  ? 
Thy  splendid  home,  thy  plan  of  laws  renown'd, 
The  praise  and  envy  of  the  nations  round, 
What  care  hast  thou  to  guard  from   Fortune's  sway  ? 
Amid  the  storms  of  war,  how  soon  may  all 
The  lofty  pile  from  its  foundations  fall, 
Of  AGES  the  proud  toil,  the  ruin  of  a  DAY  ?  30 

IV. 
No  :  thou  art  rich,  thy  streams  and  fertile  vales 

Add  INDUSTRY'S  wise  gifts  to  NATURE'S  store * 
And  every  port  is  crowded  with  thy  sails, 
And  every  wave  throws  treasure  on  thy  shore, 
What  boots  it  ?     If  luxurious  PLENTY  charm 
Thy  selfish  heart  from  GLORY,  if  thy  arm 
Shrink  at  the  frowns  of  danger  and  of  pain, 
Those  Gifts,  that  Treasure  is  no  longer  thine. 
OH  RATHER  FAR  BE  POOR.     Thy  gold  will  shine         39 

Tempting  the  eye  of  Force,  and  deck  thee  to  thy  baae, 

V. 

But  what  hath  Force  or  War  to  do  with  thee  ? 
Girt  by  the  azure  tide  and  throned  sublime 
Amid  thy  floating  bulwarks,  thou  canst  see, 
With  scorn,  the  fury  of  each  hostile  clime 
Dash'd  ere  it  reach  thee.     Sacred  from  the  foe 
Are  thy  fair  fields.     Athwart  thy  guardian  prow 
No  bold  invader's  foot  shall  tempt  the  strand- 
Yet  say,  my  country,  will  the  waves  and  wind 
Obey  thee  ?     Hast  thou  all  thy  hopes  resigned        4Q 
To  the  sty's  fickle  faith  ?  the  pilot's  wavering  hand  ? 


92  O  t>  E    XL 

VI. 

For  oh  may  neither  Fear  nor  stronger  Love 

(Love,  by  thy  virtuous  princes  nobly  won) 
Thee,  last  of  many  wretched  nations,  move, 
With  mighty  armies  stationed  round  the  throne 
To  trust  thy  safety.     Then,  farewell  the  claims 
Of  FREEDOM  !  Her  proud  records  to  the  flames 
Then  bear,  an  offering  at  AMBITION'S  shrine ; 
Whatever  thy  antient  patriots  dared  demand  58 

From  furious  JOHN'S,  or  faithless  CHARLES'S  hand, 
Or  what  great  WILLIAM  seal'd  for  his  adopted  line. 

VII. 

But  if  thy  sons  be  worthy  of  their  name, 

If  liberal  laws  with  liberal  hearts  they  prize, 
Let  them  from  conquest,  and  from  servile  shame 
In  War's  glad  school  their  own  protectors  rise. 
Ye  chiefly,  HEIRS  of  ALBION'S  cultured  plains, 
Ye  LEADERS  of  her  bold  and  faithful  swains, 
Now  not  unequal  to  your  birth  be  found  : 
The  public  voice  bids  arm  your  rural  state, 
Paternal  hamlets  for  your  ensigns  wait,  69 

And  grange  and  fold  prepare  to  pour  their  youth  around. 

VIII. 
Why  are  ye  tardy  ?  what  inglorious  care 

Detains  you  from  their  head,  your  native  post ; 
Who  most  their  country's  Fame  and  Fortune  share, 
*Tis  theirs  to  share  her  Toils,  her  Perils  most. 
Each  man  his  task  in  social  life  sustains. 
With  partial  labours,  with  domestic  gains 
Let  others  dwell :  to  you  indulgent  Heaven 
By  counsel  and  by  arms  the  PUBLIC  CAUSE 
To  serve  for  public  love  and  love's  applause,  79 

The  first  employment  far,  the  noblest  hire,  hath  given. 


BOOK   T  H  E  S  E  C  O  N  D.  93 

IX. 

Have  ye  not  heard  of  LACED  DEMON'S  fame  ? 

Of  ATTIC  chiefs  in  FREEDOM'S  war  divine  ? 
Of  ROME'S  dread  generals  ?   the  VALERIAN  name  ? 
The  FABIAN,  sons  ?  the  Scipios'  matchless  line  ? 
Your  lot  was  theirs.     The  Farmer  and  the  Swain 
Met  his  loved  Patron's  summons  from  the  plain  ; 
The  legions  gather 'd ;  the  bright  eagles  flew  : 
Barbarian  MONARCHS  in  the  triumphs  mourn'd  ; 
The  CONQUERORS  to  their  household  gods  returned,  8$ 
And  fed  Calabrian  flocks,  and  steer  'd  the  Sabine  plough, 

X. 

Shall  then  this  glory  of  the  antique  age, 

This  pride  .of  men,  be  lost  among  mankind  ? 
Shall  WAR'S  heroic  arts  no  more  engage 
The  unbought  hand,  the  unsubjected  mind  ? 
Doth  VALOUR  to  the  race  no  more  belong  ? 
No  more  with  scorn  of  violence  and  wrong 
Doth  forming  Nature  now  her  sons  inspire, 
That,  like  some  mystery  to  few  reveal'd, 
The  skill  of  arms  abash'd  and  awed  they  yield,      99 
And  from  their  own  defence  with  hopeless  hearts  retire  ? 
XI. 

Ol    elaexwfto   to   Jrxvirvievr*    lift.,   to  1>  la  *vk  a  vi    IcMirc.  ?. 

The  loose  adventurer,  hireling  of  a  day, 
Who  his  fell  sword  without  affection  draws, 
Whose  GOD,  whose  COUNTRY  is  a  TYRANT'S  pay, 
This  man  the  lessons  of  the  field  can  learn  ; 
Can  every  palm,  which  decks  a  warrior,  earn, 
And  every  pledge  of  conquest :  while  in  vain, 
To  guard  your  altars,  your  paternal  lands, 
Are  social  arms  held  out  to  your  free  hands  :         109 
Too  arduous  is  the  lore  j  too  irksome  were  the  pain, 


$*  ODE    XI, 

XII. 

Meantime  by  pleasure's  lying  tales  allured, 

From  the  bright  sun  and  living  breeze  ye  stray ; 
And  deep  in  LONDON'S  gloomy  haunts  immured, 
Brood  o'er  your  fortune's,  freedom's,  health's  decay. 
O  blind  of  choice  and  to  yourselves  untrue  ! 
The  young  grove  shoots,  their  bloom  the  fields  renew, 
The  MANSION  asks  its  lord,  the  SWAINS  their  friend  -9 
While  HE  doth  riot's  orgies  haply  share, 
Or  tempt  the  gamester's  dark,  destroying  snare,  119 
Or  at  some  courtly  shrine  with  slavish  incense  bend. 

XIII. 

And  yet  full  oft  your  anxious  tongues  complain, 

That  lawless  tumult  prompts  the  rustic  throng  ; 
That  the  rude  village-inmates  now  disdain 
Those  homely  ties  which  ruled  their  fathers  long. 
Alas,  your  fathers  did  by  other  arts 
Draw  those  kind  ties  around  their  simple  hearts, 
And  led  in  other  paths  their  ductile  will ; 
By  succour,  faithful  counsel,  courteous  cheer,        128 
Won  them  the  ancient  manners  to  revere,         [fulfil. 
To  prize   their  country's  peace  and  heaven's  due  rites 

XIV. 

But  mark  the  judgment  of  experienced  TIME, 
Tutor  of  nations.     Doth  light  discord  tear 
A  state  ?  and  impotent  seditions  crime ? 
The  powers  of  warlike  prudtnce  dwell  not  there  ; 
The  powers  who  to  command  and  to  obey, 
Instruct  the  valiant.     There  would  civil  sway 
The  rising  race  to  manly  concord  tame  ? 
Oft  let  the  marshal'd  field  their  steps  unite, 
And  in  glad  splendor  bring  before  their  sight 
common  cause  and  ONE  hereditary  fame.        .  140 


BOOK   THE   SECOND.  95 

XV. 

Nor  yet  be  awed,  nor  yet  your  task  disown, 

Though  war's  proud  votaries  look  on  severe ; 
Though  secrets,  taught  erewhile  to  them  alone, 
They  deem  profaned  by  your  intruding  ear. 
Let  them  in  vain,  your  martial  hope  to  quell, 
Of  new  refinements,  fiercer  weapons  tell, 
And  mock  the  old  simplicity,  in  vain  : 
To  the  time's  warfare,  simple  or  refined, 
The  time  itself  adapts  the  warrior's  mind  ;  149 

And  equal  prowess  still  shall  equal  palms  obtain. 

XVI. 

Say  then  ;  if  England's  youth,  in  earlier  days, 

On  glory's  field  with  well-train'd  armies  vied, 
Why  shall  they  now  renounce  that  generous  praise  ? 
Why  dread  the  foreign  mercenary's  pride  ? 
Though  VALOIS  braved  young  EDWARD'S  gentle  hand, 
And  ALBRET  rush'd  on  HENRY'S  way-worn  band, 
With  Europe's  chosen  sons  in  arms  renown'd, 
Yet  not  on  VERE'S  bold  archers  long  they  look'd  : 
Nor  AUDLEY'S  squires  nor  MOWBR.\Y'S  yeomen  brooked: 
They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  MONARCH 

bound.  160 

XVI. 
Such  were  the  laurels  which  your  FATHERS  won ; 

Such  glory's  dictates  in  THEIR  dauntless  breast : 
— Is  there  no  voice  that  speaks  to  every  SON  ? 
No  nobler,  holier  call  to  you  address'd  ? 
O  !  by  majestic  FREEDOM,  righteous  LAWS, 
By  heavenly  TRUTH'S,  by  manly  REASON'S  cause, 
Awake  ;  attend  ;  be  indolent  no  more, 
By  friendship,  social  peace,  domestic  love, 
Rise;  arm;  your  COUNTRY'S  living  safety  prove;   169 
And  train  her  valiant  youth,  and  watch  around  her  shore. 


96 

ODE    XII. 

ON   RECOVERING   FROM    A  FIT   OF 

SICKNESS, 
IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

MDCCLVIII. 

I. 

JL  HY  verdant  scenes,  O  Goulder's  hill, 
Once  more  I  seek,  a  languid  guest : 
With  throbbing  temples  and  with  burdened  breast 
Once  more  I  climb  thy  steep  aerial  way. 
O  faithful  cure  of  oft-returning  ill, 
Now  call  thy  sprightly  breezes  round, 
Dissolve  this  rigid  cough  profound  7 

And  bid  the  springs  of  life  with  gentler  movement  play. 

II. 
How  gladly  'mid  the  dews  of  dawn 

My  weary  lungs  thy  healing  gale, 
The  balmy  west  or  the  fresh  north,  inhale  ! 
How  gladly,  while  my  musing  footsteps  rove 
Round  the  cool  orchard  or  the  sunny  lawn, 

Awaked  I  stop,  and  look  to  find 

What  shrub  perfumes  the  pleasant  wind,  15 

Or  what  wild  songster  charms  the  Dryads  of  the  grove. 

III. 

Now  ere  the  morning  walk  is  done, 

The  distant  voice  of  HEALTH  I  hear 
Welcome  as  beauty's  to  the  lover's  ear, 
"  Droop  not,  nor  doubt  of  my  return,"  she  cries ; 
*'  Here  will  I,  'mid  the  radiant  calm  of  noon, 


BOOK    THE    SECOND.  97 

"  Meet  thee  beneath  yon  chesnut  bower, 
"  And  lenient  on  thy  bosom  pour  23 

*'  That  indolence  divine  which  lulls  the  earth  and  skies." 

IV. 

The  goddess  promised  not  in  vain. 

I  found  her  at  my  favorite  time. 
Nor  wish'd  to  breathe  in  any  softer  clime, 
While  (half-reclined,  half* -slumbering  as  I  lay) 
She  hover'd  o'er  me.     Then,  among  her  train 
Of  nymphs  and  zephyrs,  to  my  view 
Thy  gracious  form  appeared  anew,  3 1 

Then  first,  O  heavenly  MUSE,  unseen  for  many  a  day. 

V. 
In  that  soft  pomp  the  tuneful  maid 

Shone  like  the  golden  star  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand  in  careless  measures  move ; 
I  heard  sweet  preludes  dancing  on  her  lyre, 
While  my  whole  frame  the  sacred  sound  obey'd. 

New  sunshine  o'er  my  fancy  springs, 

New  colours  clothe  external  things,  3p 

And  the  last  glooms  of  pain  and  sickly  plaint  retire, 
VI. 

O  GOULDER'S  HILL,  by  thee  restored 

Once  more  to  this  enlivened  hand, 
My  HARP,  which  late  resounded  o'er  the  land 
The  voice  of  glory,  solemn  and  severe, 
My  Dorian  HARP  shall  now  with  mild  accord 

To  THEE  her  joyful  tribute  pay, 

And  send  a  less-ambitious  lay  47 

Of  friendship  and  of  love  to  greet  thy  master's  ear. 

VII. 

For  when  within  thy  shady  seat 

First  from  the  sultry  town  he  chose., 
I  i 


98  ODE   XII. 

And  the  tired  senate's  cares,  his  wish'd 
Then  wast  thou  mine ;  to  me  a  happier  home 
For  social  leisure :  where  my  welcome  feet, 
Estranged  from  all  the  entangling  ways, 
In  which  the  restless  vulgar  strays, 
Through   Nature's   simple  paths,   with   ancient    faith 
might  roam,  56 

VIII. 
And  while  around  his  sylvan  scene 

My  DYSON  led  the  white -wing'd  hours, 
Oft  from  the  Athenian  Academic  bowers 
Their  SASES  came  :  oft  heard  our  lingering  walk 
The  Mantuan  music  warbling  o'er  the  green : 
And  oft  did  TULLY'S  reverend  shade, 
Though  much  for  LIBERTY  afraid,  03 

\Yith  us  of  lettered  ease  or  virtuous  glory  talk. 

IX. 
But  oilier  guests  were  on  their  way, 

And  reach Jd  erelong  this  favoured  grove; 
Even  the  celestial  progeny  of  JOVE, 
Bright  VENUS,  with  her  all-subduing  SON, 
Whose  golden  shaft  most  willingly  obey 

The  best  and  wisest.     As  they  came,  ,  69 

Glad  HYMEN  waved  his  genial  flame,  [throne. 

And  sang  their  happy  gifts,  and  praised  their  spotless 

X. 

I  saw  when  through  yon  festive  gate 

He  led  along  his  chosen  maid, 
And  to  my  friend  with  smiles  presenting  said  ; 
"  Receive  that  fairest  wealth  which  Heaven  assign 'd 
"  To  human  fortune.     Did  thy  lonely  state 

"  One  wish,  one  utmost  hope  confess  ? 
"  Behold,  she  comes,  to  adorn  and  bless :  78 

"Comes,  worthy  of  thy  heart,  and  equal  to  thy  mind/' 


BOOK    THE    SECOND. 

ODE    XIII. 

TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  BRANDENBURG!!  : 

M  D  C  C  L  I. 

I. 

X  HE  men  rcnown'd  as  chiefs  of  human  race,* 
And  born  to  lead  in  counsels  or  in  arms, 
Have  seldom  turn'd  their  feet  from  GLORY'S  chace 
To  dwell  with  books,  or  court  the  MUSE'S  charms, 
Yet,  to  our  eyes  if  haply  Time  hath  brought 
Some  genuine  transcript  of  their  calmer  thought, 
There  still  we  own  the  wise,  the  great,  or  good ; 
And  CESAR  there  and  XENOPHON  are  seen, 
As  clear  in  spirit  and  sublime  of  rnien, 
As  on  Pharsaiian  plains,  or  by  the  Assyrian  flood.      10 

n. 

Say  thou  too,  FKEDERTC,  was  not  this  thy  aim  ? 
Thy  vigils  could  the  student's  lamp  engage, 

*  V.  1.]  In  the  year  1751  appeared  a  very  splendid  edition,  in 
quarto,  of  Memoirs  pour  servir  a  I'Histoire  de  la  Mahon  de  Brande- 
bourg,  a  Berlin  <3C  a  Ifi  Haye ,  with  a  privilege  signed  FREDERIC;  the 
same  being  engraved  in  imitation  of  hand-writing.  In  this  edition, 
among  other  extraordinary  passages,  are  the  two  following,  to  which 
the  third  stanza  of  this  ode  more  particularly  refers  : 

Page  163.]  II  sc  jit  une  migration  (the  author  is  speaking  of 
what  happened  on  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes}  dont  on 
n'avoit  guere  -ju  <& examples  dans  Phistoire:  un  peitple  cntiei  sortit  du 
royaume  par  P  esprit  de  parti  en  koine  du  pape,  «Sf  Hour  recevoir  sens 
un  autre  del  la  communion  sous  les  deux  especes.  slitatre  cena  mille 
ames  s  cxpettriertMt  ainsi  fy  abaftdonnerent  tons  leur  biens  pour  deion* 
ner  dans  d^autres  temples  les  vieux  pseaum.es  de  Clement  ^M'trot. 

Page  242.]  La  crainte  donna  te  jour  a  la  creduliit,  &{  f  amour 
propre  mteressa  bientot  le  del  au  destin  des  hommes* 


100  ODE    XIII. 

Except  for  this  ?  except  that  future  Fame 
Might  read  thy  genius  in  the  faithful  page? 
That  if  hereafter  Envy  shall  presume 
With  words  irreverent  to  inscribe  thy  tomb> 
And  baser  weeds  upon  thy  palms  to  fling, 
That  hence  posterity  may  try  thy  reign, 
Assert  thy  treaties,  and  thy  wars  explain, 
And  view  in  native  lights  the  HERO  and  the  KING.       20 

III. 
O  evil  foresight  and  pernicious  care  ! 

Wilt  thou  indeed  abide  by  this  appeal  ? 
Shall  we  the  lessons  of  thy  pen  compare 
With  private  honour  or  with  public  zeal  ? 
Whence  then  at  things  divine  those  darts  of.scom? 
Why  are  the  woes,  which  virtuous  men  have  borne 
For  sacred  truth,  a  prey  to  laughter  given  ? 
What  fiend,  what  foe  of  Nature  urged  thy  arm 
The  Almighty  of  his  sceptre  to  disarm  ?  29 

To  push  this  earth  adrift  and  leave  it  loose  from  heaven-? 

IV. 

Ye  god-like  shades  of  legislators  old, 

Ye  who  made  Rome  victorious,  Athens  wise, 
Ye  first  of  mortals  with  the  blessed  inroll'd, 
Say  did  not  horror  in  your  bosoms  rise, 
When  thus  by  impious  vanity  impell'd 
A  MAGISTRATE,  a  MONARCH,  ye  beheld 
AtFronting  civil  order's  holiest  bands  ? 
Those  bands  which  ye  so  laboured  to  improve  ? 
Those  hopes  and  fears  of  justice  from  above, 
Which  tamed  the  savage  world  to  your  divine  com- 
mands ?  40 


101 

ODE    XIV. 

THE  COMPLAINT. 
I. 

AWAY!  Away! 
Tempt  me  no  more,  insidious  love : 

Thy  soothing  sway 
Long  did  my  youthful  bosom  prove  : 
At  length  thy  treason  is  discerned, 
At  length  some  dear-bought  caution  earn'd  : 
Away  !  nor  hope  my  riper  age  to  move. 

IL 

I  know,  I  see 

Her  merit :  needs  it  now  be  shewn, 

Alas,  to  me  ? 

How  often,  to  myself  unknown, 
The  graceful,  gentle,  virtuous  maid 
Have  I  admired !     How  often  said, 
What  joy  to  call  a  heart  like  her's  one's  own  !  14 

III. 
But,  flattering  god, 

O  squanderer  of  content  and  ease  ! 

In  thy  abode 

Will  care's  rude  lesson  learn  to  please  ? 
O  say,  deceiver,  hast  thou  won, 
Proud  fortune  to  attend  thy  throne, 
Or  placed  thy  friends  above  her  stern  decrees  ?  21 


102 

ODE    XV. 

-<» 

ON  DOMESTIC   MANNERS. 

[  UNFINISHED.  ] 
I. 

iVlEEK  honour,  female  shame, 
O!  whither,  sweetest  offspring  of  the  sky, 

From  Albion  dost  thou  fly ; 
Of  Albion's  daughters  once  the  favourite  fame  ?• 

O  beauty's  only  friend, 
Who  givest  her  pleasing  reverence  to  inspire ; 

Who  selfish,  bold  desire 
Dost  to  esteem  and  dear  affection  turn ; 

Alas,  of  thee  forlorn  9 

What  joy,  what  praise,  what  hope  can  life  pretend? 

II. 

Behold  •  our  youths  in  vain 

Concerning  nuptial  happiness  inquire  : 

Our  maids  no  more  aspire 
The  arts  of  bashful  Hymen  to  attain ; 

But  with  triumphant  eyes 
And  cheeks  impassive,  as  they  move  along, 

Ask  homage  of  the  throng. 
The  lover  swears  that  in  a  harlot's  arms 

Are  found  the  self-same  charms, 
And  worthless  and  deserted  lives  and  dies0  20 

III. 
Behold :  unbless'd  at  home, 

The  father  of  the  cheerless  household  mourns : 


BOOK   THE   SECOND,  103 

The  night  in  vain  returns, 
For  love  and  glad  content  at  distance  roam  \ 

While  she,  in  whom  his  mind 
Seeks  refuge  from  the  day's  dull  task  of  cares, 

To  meet  him  she  prepares, 
Through  noise  and  spleen  and  all  the  gamester's  art, 

A  listless,  harrass'd  heart,  29 

Where  not  one  tender  thought  can  welcome  find. 

IV. 
'Twas  thus,  along  the  shore 

Of  Thames,  Britannia's  guardian  Genius  heard, 

From  many  a  tongue  preferr'd, 
Of  strife  and  grief  the  fond  invective  lore  : 

At  which  the  queen  divine 
Indignant,  with  her  adamantine  spear 

Like  thunder  sounding  near, 
Smote  the  red  cross  upon  her  silver  shield, 

And  thus  her  wrath  reveal'd.  39 

(I  watch'd  her  awful  words  and  made  them  mine.) 


THE  END  OF  BOOK  THE  SECOND, 


104. 


MISCELLANIES. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  CURIO.  * 
MDCCXLIV. 

qtoC  tarn  ulciscendi  causa  dixi,  quam  ut  $  in 
scderatos  cives  timore  ab  impugnanda  patria  dttine- 
rtm  ;  fy  in  posterum,  documtntum  statuerem,  ne  qicis 
talcm  amentiam  vdkt  imitari.  TULL. 

1HRICE  has  the  spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame, 
Arid  the  fourth  winter  rises  on  thy  shame, 
Since  I  exulting  grasp'd  the  votive  shell, 
In  sounds  of  triumph  all  thy  praise  to  tell  ; 
Blest  could  my  skill  through  ages  make  thee  shine,      5 
And  proud  to  mix  my  memory  with  thine. 
But  now  the  cause  that  waked  my  song  before, 
With  praise,  with  triumph,  crowns  the  toil  no  more. 
If  to  the  glorious  man  whose  faithful  cares, 
Nor  quell'd  by  malice,  nor  relax'd  by  years,  10 

Had  awed  Ambition's  wild  audacious  hate  ; 
And  dragg'd  at  length  Corruption  to  her  fate  ; 
If  every  tongue  its  large  applauses  owed, 
And  well-earn'd  laurels  every  Muse  bestow'd, 
If  public  justice  urged  the  high  reward,  15 

And  Freedom  smiled  on  the  devoted  bard  ; 
Say  then,  to  him  whose  levity  or  lust 
Laid  all  a  people's  generous  hopes  in  dust  ; 

•  See  the  note  to  the  Ode  to  Curio,  page  28, 


EPISTLE  TO   CURIO.  K)5 

Who  taught  Ambition  firmer  heights  of  power, 

And  saved  Corruption  at  her  hopeless  hour  ;  20 

Does  not  each  tongue  its  execrations  owe  ? 

Shall  not  each  Muse  a  wreath  of  shame  bestow  ? 

And  public  justice  sanctify  the  award  ? 

And  Freedom's  hand  protect  the  impartial  bard  ? 

Yet^  long  reluctant,  I  forbore  thy  name,  25 

Long  watched  thy  virtue  like  a  dying  flarne, 
Hung  o'er  each  glimmering  spark  with  anxious  eyes, 
And  wished  and  hoped  the  light  again  would  rise. 
Eut  since  thy  guilt  still  more  entire  appears, 
Since  no  art  hides,  no  supposition  clears ;  30 

Since  vengeful  Slander  now  too  sinks  her  blast, 
And  the  first  rage  of  party-hate  is  past ; 
Calm  as  the  judge  of  Truth,  at  length  I  come, 
To  weigh  thy  merits,  and  pronounce  thy  doom  : 
So  may  my  trust  from  all  reproach  be  free,  35 

And  Earth  and  Time  confirm  the  fair  decree. 

There  are  who  say  they  viewed  without  amaze 
The  sad  reverse  of  all  thy  former  praise ; 
That  through  the  pageants  of  a  patriot's  name, 
They  pierced  the  foulness  of  thy  secret  aim  ;  40 

Or  deem'd  thy  arm  exalted  but  to  throw 
The  public  thunder  on  a  private  foe  : 
But  I,  whose  soul  consented  to  thy  cause, 
Who  felt  thy  genius  stamp  its  own  applause, 
Who  saw  the  spirits  of  each  glorious  age  45 

Move  in  thy  bosom,  and  direct  thy  rage  ; 
I  scorn'd  the  ungenerous  gloss  of  slavish  minds, 
The  owl-eyed  race,  whom  Virtue's  lustre  blinds  : 
Spite  of  the  learned  in  the  ways  of  vice, 
And  all  who  prove  that  each  man  has  his  pricz,  50 


106  MISCELLANIES, 

I  still  believed  thy  end  was  just  and  free  ; 

And  yet,  even  yet  believe  it— .spite  of  thee. 

Even  though  thy  mouth  impure  has  dared  disclaim, 

Urged  by  the  wretched  impotence  of  shame, 

Whatever  filial  cares  thy  zeal  had  paid 

To  laws  infirm,  and  liberty  decay M  ; 

Has  begg'd  Ambition  to  forgive  the  show  ; 

Has  told  Corruption  thou  wert  ne'er  her  foe  ; 

Has  boasted  in  thy  country's  awful  ear, 

Her  gross  delusion  when  she  held  thee  dear  ;  60 

How  tame  she  followed  thy  tempestuous  call, 

And  heard  thy  pompous  tales,  and  trusted  all— - 

Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old, 

For  laws  subverted,  and  for  cities  sold  ! 

Paint  all  the  noblest  trophies  of  your  guilt,  65 

The  oaths  you  perjured,  and  the  blood  you  spilt ; 

Yet  must  you  one  untempted  vileness  own, 

One  dreadful  palm  reserved  for  him  alone ; 

With  studied  arts  his  country's  praise  to  spurn, 

To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn,  70 

To  challenge  hate  when  honour  was  his  due, 

And  plead  his  crimes,  where  all  his  virtue  knew, 

Do  robes  of  state  the  guarded  heart  inclose 
FroiD  each  fair  feeling  human  nature  knows  r 
Can  pompous  titles  stun  the  enchanted  ear  75 

To  all  that  reason,  all  that  sense  would  hear  ? 
Else  couldst  thou  e'er  desert  thy  sacred  post, 
In  such  unthankful  baseness  to  be  lost  ? 
Else  couldst  thou  wed  the  emptiness  of  vice, 
And  yield  thy  glories  at  an  idiot's  price?  SO 

When  they  who  loud  for  liberty  and  laws, 
In  doubtful  times  had  fought  their  country's  cause, 


EPISTLE   TO   CURIO.  10? 

When  now  of  conquest  and  dominion  sure, 

They  sought  alone  to  hold  their  fruits  secure ; 

When  taught  by  these,  Oppression  hid  the  face          85 

To  leave  Corruption  stronger  in  her  place, 

By  silent  spells  to  work  the  public  fate, 

And  taint  the  vitals  of  the  passive  state, 

Till  healing  Wisdom  should  avail  no  more, 

And  Freedom*  loathe  to  tread  the  poison'd  shore;         90 

Then,  like  some  guardian  god,  that  flies  to  save 

The  weary  pilgrim  from  an  instant  grave, 

Whom,  sleeping  and  secure,  the  guileful  snake 

Steals  near  and  nearer  through  the  peaceful  brake ; 

Then  CURIO  rose,  to  ward  the  public  woe 

To  wake  the  heedless  and  incite  the  slow, 

Against  Corruption  Liberty  to  arm, 

And  quell  the  enchantress  by  a  mightier  charm. 

Swift  o'er  the  land  the  fair  contagion  flew, 
And  with  thy  country's  hopes  thy  honours  grew  :     100 
Thee,  Patriot,  the  patrician  roof  confest  ; 
Thy  powerful  voice  the  rescued  merchant  blest; 
Of  thee  with  awe  the  rural  hearth  resounds; 
The  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns  : 
Touch'd  in  the  sighing  shade  with  manlier  fires,       105 
To  trace  thy  steps  the  love-sick  youth  aspires ; 
The  learn'd  recluse,  who  oft  amazed  had  read 
Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots  dead, 
With  new  amazement  hears  a  living  name 
Pretend  to  share  in  such  forgotten  fame ;  1 10 

And  he  who,  scorning  courts  and  courtly  ways, 
Left  the  tame  track  of  these  dejected  days, 
The  life  of  nobler  ages  to  renew, 
In  virtues,  sacred  from  a  monarch's  view. 


103  MISCELLANIES. 

Roused  by  thy  labours  from  the  blest  retreat,  115 

Where  social  ease,  and  public  passions  meet, 
Again  ascending  treads  the  civil  scene, 
To  act  and  be  a  Man,  as  thou  had'st  been. 

Thus  by  degrees  thy  cause  superior  grew, 
And  the  great  End  appear'd  at  last  in  view  :  1 20 

We  heard  the  people  in  thy  hopes  rejoice ; 
We  saw  the  senate  bending  to  thy  voice ; 
The  Friends  of  Freedom  hail'd  the  approaching  reign 
Of  laws  for  which  our  fathers  bled  in  vain ; 
While  venal  Faction,  struck  with  new  dismay,          125 
Shrunk  at  their  frown,  arid  self- abandoned  lay. 
Waked  in  the  shock,  the  PUBLIC  GENIUS  rose, 
Abash'd,  and  keener  from  his  long  repose ; 
Sublime  in  ancient  prid^,  he  raised  the  spear 
Which  slaves  and  tyrants  long  were  wont  to  fear :    130 
The  city  felt  his  call :  from  man  to  man, 
From  street  to  street  the  glorious  horror  ran; 
Each  crowded  haunt  was  stirr'd  beneath  his  power, 
And  mumuring  challenged  the  deciding  hour. 

Lo  !  the  deciding  hour  at  last  appears;  1S5 

The  hour  of  every  freeman's  hopes  and  fears  ! 
Thou,  Genius  !  guardian  of  the  Roman  name, 
O  ever  prompt  tyrannic  rage  to  tame ! 
Instruct  the  mighty  moments  as  they  roll, 
And  guide  each  movement  steady  to  the  goal.  14-0 

Ye  spirits,  by  whose  providential  art 
Succeeding  motives  turn  the  changeful  heart, 
Keep,  keep  the  best  in  view  to  CURIO'S  mind, 
And  watch  his  fancy  and  his  passions  bind  ! 
Ye  shades  immortal,  who,  by  Freedom  led,  14-5 

Or  in  the  field  or  o«  the  scaffold  bled, 


EPISTLE   TO    CURIO.  109 

Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye, 

And  view  the  crown  of  all  your  labours  nigh. 

See  Freedom  mounting  her  eternal  throne  ! 

The  sword  submitted  and  the  laws  her  own  :  150 

See  !  public  power  chastised  beneath  her  stands, 

With  eyes  intent  and  uncorrupted  hands  : 

See  private  life  by  wisest  arts  reclaimed  ! 

See  ardent  youth  to  noblest  manners  framed ! 

See  us  acquire  whate'er  was  sought  by  you,  155 

If  CURIO,  only  CURIO  will  be  true. 

'Twas  then — O  shame  !  O  trust,  how  ill  repaid  ! 
O  Latium  oft  by  faithless  sons  betrayed  !— - 
'Twas  then-— What  frenzy  on  thy  reason  stole  ? 
What  spells  urisinew'd  thy  determined  soul  ?  160 

• — Is  this  the  man  in  freedom's  cause  approved  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honoured,  so  beloved  ? 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  Chains  allured  ? 
This  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjured  ? 
This  CURIO,  hated  and  despised  by  all  ?  165 

Who  fell  himself,  to  work  his  country's  fall? 

O  lost  alike  to  action  and  repose  ! 
Unown'd,  unpitied  in  the  worst  of  woes  ! 
With  all  that  conscious,  undissembled  pride, 
Sold  to  the  insults  of  a  foe  defy'd  i  170 

With  all  that  habit  of  familiar  fame, 
Doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame  ! 
The  sole  sad  refuge  of  thy  baffled  art, 
To  act  a  statesman's  dull,  exploded  part, 
Renounce  the  praise  no  longer  in  thy  power,  175 

Display  thy  virtue  though  without  a  Dower, 
Contemn  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind, 
And  shut  thy  eyes  that  others  may  be  blind. 
Kk 


110  MISCELLANIES. 

— Forgive  me,  Romans,  that  I  bear  to  smile 

When  shameless  mouths  your  majesty  defile,  180 

Paint  you  a  thoughtless,  frantic,  headlong  crew, 

And  cast  their  own  impieties  on  you. 

For  witness,  Freedom,  to  whose  sacred  power 

My  soul  was  vow'd  from  reason's  earliest  hour, 

How  have  I  stood  exulting  to  survey  185 

My  country's  virtues  opening  in  thy  ray  ! 

How,  with  the  sons  of  every  foreign  shore 

The  more  I  matched  them,  honour'd  hers  the  more  ! 

O  race  erect  !  whose  native  strength  of  soul, 

Which  kings,  nor  priests,  nor  sordid  laws  control,    190 

Bursts  the  tame  round  of  animal  affairs, 

And  seeks  a  nobler  center  for  its  cares ; 

Intent  the  laws  of  life  to  comprehend, 

And  tix  dominion's  limits  by  its  end. 

Who  bold  and  equal  in  their  love  or  hate,  195 

By  conscious  Reason  judging  every  state, 

The  man  forget  not,  though  in  rags  he  lies, 

And  know  the  mortal  through  a  crown's  disguise  : 

Thence  prompt  alike  with  witty  scorn  to  view 

Fastidious  Grandeur  lift  his  solemn  brow,  200 

Or  all-awake  at  Pity's  soft  command, 

Bend  the  mild  ear  and  stretch  the  gracious  hand  : 

Thence  large  of  heart,  from  envy  far  removed, 

When  public  toils  to  virtue  stand  approved, 

Not  the  young  lover  fonder  to  admire,  205 

Nor  more  indulgent  the  delighted  Sire ; 

Yet  high  and  jealous  of  their  freeborn  name, 

Fierce  as  the  flight  of  Jove's  cfestroying  flame, 

Where'er  Oppression  works  her  wanton  sway, 

Proud  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay.  210 


EPISTLE  TO   CURIO.  Ill 

But  if  to  purchase  CURIO'S  sage  applause, 

My  country  must  with  him  renounce  her  cause, 

Quit  with  a  slave  the  path  a  patriot  trod, 

Bow  the  meek  knee  and  kiss  the  regal  rod ; 

Then  still,  ye  powers,  instruct  his  tongue  to  rail,       215 

Nor  let  his  zeal,  nor  let  his  subject  fail : 

Else  ere  he  change  the  syle,  bear  me  away 

To  where  the  *  Gracchi,  where  the  Eruti  stay  ! 

O  long  revered  and  late  resign'd  to  shame  ! 
If  this  uncourtly  page  thy  notice  claim  220 

When  the  loud  cares  of  business  are  withdrawn, 
Nor  well-drest  beggars  round  thy  footsteps  fawn  ; 
In  that  still,  thoughtful,  solitary  hour, 
When  Truth  exerts  her  unresisted  power, 
Breaks  the  false  optics  tinged  with  Fortune's  glare,  225 
Unlocks  the  breast  and  lays  the  passions  bare ; 
Then  turn  thy  eyes  on  that  important  scene, 
And  ask  thyself— —if  all  be  well  within. 
Where  is  the  heart-felt  worth  arid  weight  of  soul, 
Which  labour  could  not  stop,  nor  fear  control  ?         230 
Where  the  known  dignity,  the  stamp  of  awe, 
Which,  half  abash'd,  the  proud  and  venal  saw  ? 
Where  the  calm  triumphs  of  an  honest  cause  ? 
Where  the  delightful  taste  of  just  applause  ? 
Where  the  strong  reason,  the  commanding  tongue, 
On  which  the  Senate  fired  or  trembling  hung  ?         236 
All  vanished,  all  are  sold — And  in  their  room, 
Couch'd  in  thy  bosom's  deep,  distracted  gloom, 

*  Ver.  218.  ]  The  two  brothers,  Tiberius  and  Caius  Gracchus  lost 
their  lives  in  attempting  to  introduce  the  only  regulation  that  could 
give  stability  and  good  order  to  the  Roman  republic. 

L.  Jun.  Brutus  founded  the  commonwealth,  and  died  in  its 
defence. 


112  MISCELLANIES, 

See  the  pale  form  of  barbarous  Grandeur  dwell, 

Like  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell  1  240 

To  her  in  chains  thy  dignity  was  led  ; 

At  her  polluted  shrine  thy  honour  bled ; 

With  blasted  weeds  thy  awful  brow  she  crown'd, 

Thy  powerful  tongue  with  poison'd  philters  Abound, 

That  baffled  Reason  straight  indignant  flew,  245 

And  fair  Persuasion  from  her  seat  withdrew  : 

For  now  no  longer  Truth  supports  thy  cause  ; 

No  longer  Glory  prompts  thee  to  applause ; 

No  longer  Virtue  breathing  in  thy  breast, 

With  all  her  conscious  majesty  eonfest,  250 

Still  bright  and  brighter  wakes  the  almighty  flame 

To  rouse  the  feeble  and  the  wilful  tame, 

And  where  she  sees  the  catching  glimpses  roll, 

Spreads  the  strong  blaze  and  all  involves  the  soul ; 

But  cold  restraints  thy  conscious  Fancy  chill,  255 

And  formal  passions  mock  thy  struggling  will ; 

Or,  if  thy  Genius  e'er  forget  his  chain, 

And  reach  impatient  at  a  nobler  strain, 

Soon  the  sad  bodings  of  contemptuous  mirth  259 

Shoot  through  thy  breast  and  stab  the  generous  birth, 

Till,  blind  with  smart,  from  truth  to  frenzy  tost, 

And  all  the  tenor  of  thy  reason  lost ; 

Perhaps  thy  anguish  drains  a  real  tear ; 

While  some  with  pky,  some  with  laughter  hear. 

— -Can  art,  alas  !  or  genius  guide  the  head,  265 

Where  truth  and  freedom  from  the  heart  are  fled  ? 

Can  lesser  wheels  repeat  their  native  stroke, 

When  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  broke  ? 

But  come,  unhappy  Man  !  thy  fates  impend  ; 
Come,  quit  thy  friends,  if  yet  thou  hast  a  friend ;     270 


EPISTLE  TO   CURIO.  113 

Turn  from  the  poor  rewards  of  guilt  like  thine, 
lienounce  thy  titles  and  thy  robes  resign  ; 
For  see  the  hand  of  destiny  displayed 
To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray'd  ! 
See  the  dire  fane  of  II\TFAMY  arise  !  275 

Dark  as  the  grave,  and  spacious  as  the  skies ; 
Where  from  the  first  of  time,  thy  kindred  train, 
The  chiefs  and  princes  of  the  unjust  remain. 
Eternal  barriers  guard  the  pathless  road 
To  warn  the  wanderer  of  the  curst  abode ;  230 

But  prone  as  whirlwinds  scour  the  passive  sky, 
•The  heights  surmounted,  down  the  steep  they  fly. 
There  black  with  frowns,  relentless  TIME  awaits, 
And  goads  their  footsteps  to  the  guilty  gates  ;.. 
And  still  he  asks  them  of  their  unknown  aims,          285 
Evolves  their  secrets  and  their  guilt  proclaims ; 
And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 
Of  each  vain  wreath  by  lying  bards  bestowed, 
Break  their  proud  marbles,  crush  their  festal  cars, 
And  rend  the  lawless  trophies  erf  their  wars.  290 

At  last  the  gates  his  potent  voice  obey  ; 
Fierce  to  their  dark  abode  he  drives  his  prey, 
Where,  ever  arm'd  with  adamantine  chains, 
The  watchful  daemon  o'er  her  vassals  reigns, 
O'er  mighty  names  and  giant-powers  of  lust,  295 

The  Great,  the  Sage,  the  Happy  and  August.  * 
No  gleam  of  hope  their  baleful  mansion  chears, 
No  sound  of  honour  hails  their  unblest  ears; 
But  dire  reproaches  from  the  friend  betray 'cl, 
The  childless  sire  and  violated  maid  ;  300 

*  Ver.  296.  ]     Titles  which  have  been  generally  ascribed  to  the 
most  pernicious  of  men. 

Kk2 


114.  MISCELLANIES, 

But  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effaced, 

From  towns  inslaved  and  continents  laid  waste ; 

But  long  Posterity's  united  groan, 

And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own, 

For  ever  through  the  trembling  space  resound,         305 

And  sink  each  impious  forehead  to  the  ground. 

Ye  mighty  foes  of  Liberty  and  Rest, 
Give  way,  do  homage  to  a  mightier  guest  ! 
Ye  daring  spirits  of  the  Ro?nan  race, 
See  CURIO'S  toil  your  proudest  claims  efface  !  310 

—•Awed1  at  the  name,  fierce  *  Appius  rising  bends, 
And  hardy  Cinna  from  his  throne  attends  : 
"  He  comes,"  they  cry  "  to  whom  the  Fates  assigned 
"  With  surer  arts  to  work  what  we  designed, 
"  From  year  to  year  the  stubborn  herd  to  sway,        315 
'•'  Mouth  all  their  wrongs,  and  all  their  rage  obey  ; 
"  Till,  own'd  their  guide  and  trusted  with  their  power, 
te  He  mock'd  their  hopes  in  one  decisive  hour ; 
"  Then,  tired  and  yielding,  led  them  to  the  chain, 
"And  quench'd  the  spirit  we  provoked  in  vain."      320 

But  thou,  Supreme,  by  whose  eternal  hands 
Fair  Liberty's  heroic  empire  stands; 
Whose  thunders  the  rebellious  deep  control, 
And  quell  the  triumphs  of  the  trad  tor's  soul, 
O  turn  this  dreadful  omen  far  away  !  325 

On  Freedom's  foes  their  own  attempts  repay ; 
Relume  her  sacred  fire  so  near  supprest, 
And  fix  her  shrine  in  every  Roman  breast. 
Though  bold  Corruption  boast  around  the  land, 
"  Let  Virtue,  if  she  can,  my  baits  withstand  !"          330 

*  Ver.  311,  312.  ]  Appius  Claudius  the  decemvir  and  L.  Corne- 
lius Cinna  both  attempted  to  establish  a  tyrannical  dominion  in 
Rome,  and  bpth  perished  by  the  treason. 


EPISTLE   TO    CURIO.  115 

Though  bolder  now  she  urge  the  accursed  claim, 

Gay  with  her  trophies  raised  on  CURIO'S  shame ; 

Yet  some  there  are  who  scorn  her  impious  mirth, 

Who  know  what  conscience  and  a  heart  are  worth. 

— O  friend  and  father  of  the  human  mind,  335 

Whose  art  for  noblest  ends  our  frame  designed  ! 

If  I,  though  fated  to  the  studious  shade 

Which  party-strife  nor  anxious  power  invade, 

If  I  aspire  in  public  Virtue's  cause, 

To  guide  the  Muses  by  sublimer  laws,  340 

Do  thou  her  own  authority  impart, 

And  give  my  numbers  entrance  to  the  heart. 

Perhaps  the  verse  might  rouse  her  smother'd  flame, 

And  snatch  the  fainting  patriot  back  to  fame  ; 

Perhaps  by  worthy  thoughts  of  human  kind,  313 

To  worthy  deeds  exalt  the  conscious  mind ; 

Or  dash  Corruption  in  her  proud  career, 

And  teach  her  slaves  that  Vice  was  born  to  fear. 


LOVE. 

AN   ELEGY. 

JL  GO  much  my  heart  of  Beauty's  power  hath  known., 
Too  long  to  Love  hath  Reason  left  her  throne ; 
Too  long  my  Genius  mourn'd  his  myrtle  chain, 
And  three  rich  years  of  youth  consumed  in  vain. 
My  wishes,  lull'd  with  soft  inglorious  dreams,  5 

Forgot  the  patriot's  and  the  sage's  themes ; 
Through  each  Elysian  vale  and  Fairy  grove, 
Through  all  the  enchanted  paradise  of  Love. 


116  MISCELLANIES, 

Misled  by  sickly  Hope's  deceitful  flame, 

Averse  to  action,  and  renouncing  fame.  10 

At  last  the  visionary  scenes  decay, 
My  eyes,  exulting,  bless  the  newborn  day, 
Whose  faithful  beams  detect  the  dangerous  road 
In  which  my  heedless  feet  securely  trod, 
And  strip  the  phantoms  of  their  lying  charms,  1 ,5 

That  lured  my  soul  from  Wisdom's  peaceful  arms. 

For  silver  streams  and  banks  bespread  with  flowers, 
For  mossy  couches  and  harmonious  bowers, 
Lo !  barren  heaths  appear,  and  pathless  woods, 
And  rocks  hung  dreadful  o'er  unfathomed  floods  :      20 
For  openness  of  heart,  for  tender  smiles, 
Looks  fraught  with  love,  and  wrath-disarming  wiles, 
Lo !   sullen  Spite,  and  perjured  Lust  of  Gain, 
And  cruel  Pride,  and  crueller  Disdain  ; 
Lo!  cordial  Faith,  to  idiot  airs  refined,  25 

Now  coolly  civil,  now  transporting  kind. 
For  graceful  Ease,  lo  !  Affectation  walks ; 
And  dull  Half-sense  for  Wit  and  Wisdom  talks  : 
New  to  each  hour,  what  low  delight  succeeds, 
What  precious  furniture  of  hearts  and  heads  !  30 

By  nought  their  prudence,  but  by  getting,  known, 
And  all  their  courage  in  deceiving  shown. 

See  next  what  plagues  attend  the  lover's  state, 
What  frightful  forms  of  Terror,  Scorri,  and  Hate  ! 
See  burning  Fury  heaven  and  earth  defy  !  35 

See  dumb  Despair  in  icy  fetters  lie  ! 
See  black  Suspicion  bend  his  gloomy  brow, 
The  hideous  image  of  himself  to  view  1 
And  fond  Belief,  with  all  a  lover's  flame,  39 

Sink  in  those  arms  that  point  his  head  with  shame ! 


LOVE.     AN   ELEGY.  117 

There  wan  Dejection,  faltering  as  he  goes, 

In  shades  and  silence  vainly  seeks  repose, 

Musing  through  pathless  wilds,  consumes  the  day, 

Then  lost  in  darkness,  weeps  the  houis  away. 

Here  the  gay  crowd  of  Luxury  advance  ;  4-5 

Some  touch  the  lyre,  and  others  urge  the  dance ; 

On  every  head  the  rosy  garland  glows, 

In  every  hand  the  golden  goblet  flows ; 

The  Syren  views  them  with  exulting  eyes, 

And  laughs  at  bashful  Virtue  as  she  flies.  50 

But  see  behind,  where  Scorn  and  Want  appear, 

The  grave  remonstrance  and  the  witty  sneer; 

See  fell  Remorse,  in  action  prompt  to  dart 

Her  snaky  poison  through  the  conscious  heart ! 

And  Sloth,  to  cancel,  with  oblivious  shame,  5£ 

The  fair  memorial  of  recording  Fame. 

Are  these  delights  that  one  would  wish  to  gain  ? 
Is  this  the  Elysium  of  a  sober  brain  ? 
To  wait  for  happiness  in  female  smiles, 
Bear  all  her  scorn,  be  caught  with  all  her  wiles;         60 
With  prayers,  with  bribes,  with  lies,  her  pity  crave, 
Bless  her  hard  bonds,  and  boast  to  be  her  slave ; 
To  feel  for  trifles  a  distracting  train 
Of  hopes  and  terrors  equally  in  vain  ; 
This  hour  to  tremble,  and  the  next  to  glow  ;  65 

Can  Pride,  can  Sense,  can  Reason,  stoop  so  low  ? 
When  Virtue  at  an  easier  price  displays  - 
The  sacred  wreaths  of  honourable  praise, 
When  Wisdom  utters  her  divine  decree, 
To  laugh  at  pompous  Folly  and  be  free.  70 

I  bid  adie  u,  then,  to  those  woful  scenes ; 
I  bid  adieu  to  all  the  sex  of  queens ; 


118  MISCELLANIES. 

Adieu  to  every  suffering,  simple  soul 

That  lets  a  woman's  will  his  ease  control. 

There  laugh,  ye  witty  !  and  rebuke,  ye  grave  !  75 

For  me,  I  scorn  to  boast  that  I'm  a  slave ; 

I  bid  the  whining  brotherhood  be  gone, 

Joy  to  my  heart !  my  wishes  are  my  own. 

Farewell  the  female  heaven,  the  female  hell, 

To  the  great  god  of  Love  a  glad  farewell.  80 

Is  this  the  triumph  of  thy  awful  name  t 

Are  these  the  splendid  hopes  that  urged  thy  aim, 

When  first  my  bosom  own'd  thy  haughty  sway  ? 

When  thus  Minerva  heard  thee  boasting  say, 

"Go  martial  Maid  !  elsewhere  thy  arts  employ,         85 

"  Nor  hope  to  shelter  that  devoted  boy  ; 

"  Go  teach  the  solemn  sons  of  Care  and  Age, 

"The  pensive  statesman  and  the  midnight  sage; 

"  The  young  with  me  must  other  lessons  prove  ;  . 

"  Youth  calls  for  Pleasure,  Pleasure  calls  for  Love  ;    90 

"  Behold  his  heart  thy  grave  advice  disdains, 

"  Behold  I  bind  him  in  eternal  chains. 

Alas !  great  Love,  how  idle  was  the  boast ! 
Thy  chains  are  broken,  and  thy  lessons  lost; 
Thy  wilful  rage  has  tired  my  suffering  heart,  95 

And  passion,  reason,  forced  thee  to  depart. 

But  wherefore  dost  thou  linger  on  thy  way  ? 
Why  vainly  search  for  some  pretence  to  stay, 
When  crowds  of  vassals  court  thy  pleasing  yoke, 
And  countless  victims  bow  them  to  the  stroke  \         100 
Lol  round  thy  shrine  a  thousand  youths  advance. 
Warm  with  the  gentle  ardours  of  romance  ; 
Each  longs  to  assert  thy  cause  with  feats  of  arms, 
And  make  the  world  confess  Duleinea's  charms. 


LOVE.    AN  ELEGY.  119 

Ten  thousand  girls,  with  flowery  chaplets  crown'd,  105 
To  groves  and  streams  thy  tender  triumph  sound; 
Each  bids  the  stream  in  murmurs  speak  her  flame, 
Each  calls  the  grove  to  sigh  her  shepherd's  name  : 
But,  if  thy  pride  such  easy  honours  scorn, 
If  nobler  trophies  must  thy  toil  adorn,  1 10 

Behold  yon  flowery  antiquated  maid 
Bright  in  the  bloom  of  threescore  years  displayed  ; 
Her  shalt  thou  bind  in  thy  delightful  chains, 
And  thrill  with  gentle  pangs  her  withered  veins, 
Her  frosty  cheek  with  crimson  blushes  dye,  115 

With  dreams  cf  rapture  melt  her  maudlin  eye. 
Turn  then  thy  labours  to  the  servile  crowd. 
Entice  the  wary  and  control  the  proud  ; 
Make  the  sad  miser  his  best  gains  forego, 
The  solemn  statesman  sigh  to  be  a  beau,          .  1 20 

The  bold  coquette  with  fondest  passion  burn, 
The  Bacchanalian  o'er  his  bottle  mourn  ; 
And  that  chief  glory  of  thy  power  maintain, 
"  To  poise  ambition  in  a  female  brain/' 
Be- these  thy  triumphs;  but  no  more  presume  125 

That  my  rebellious  heart  will  yield  thee  room  : 
I  know  thy  puny  force,  thy  simple  wiles., 
I  break  triumphant  through  thy  flimsy  toils : 
I  see  thy  dying  lamp's  last  languid  glow, 
Thy  arrows  blunted,  and  unbraced  thy  bow;  130 

I  feel  diviner  fires  my  breast  inflame, 
To  active  science,  and  ingenuous  fame  : 
Resume  the  paths  my  earliest  choice  began, 
And  lose,  with  pride,  the  lover  in  the  man.  134- 


120 


A   BRITISH   PHILIPPIC, 

OCCASIONED    BY  THE  INSULTS  OF    THE  SPANIARDS,    AND  THE 

PRESENT  PREPARATIONS  FOR  WAR,    1738.    v 

W  HENCE  this  unwonted  transport  in  my  breast  ? 
Why  glow  my  thoughts  ?  and  whither  would  the  Muse 
Aspire  with  rapid  wing?     Her  country's  cause 
Demands  her  efforts  :  at  that  sacred  call 
She  summons  all  her  ardour,  throws  aside  5 

The  trembling  lyre,  and  with  the  warrior's  trump 
She  means  to  thunder  in  each  British  ear; 
And  if  one  spark  of  honour  or  of  fame, 
Disdain  of  insult,  dread  of  infamy, 
One  thought  of  public  virtue,  yet  survive,  10 

She  means  to  wake  it,  rou^e  the  generous  flame, 
With  patriot  zeal  inspirit  every  breast, 
And  fire  each  British  heart  with  British  wrongs. 

Alas, — the  vain  attempt !     What  influence  now 
Can  the  Muse  boast?  or  what  attention  now  15 

Is  paid  to  fame  or  virtue  ?     Where  is  now 
The  British  spirit,  generous,  warm,  and  brave. 
So  frequent  wont  from  tyranny  and  woe 
To  free  the  suppliant  nations  ?     Where  indeed  ! 
If  that  protection,  once  to  strangers  given^  20 

Be  now  with-held  from  sons?     Each  nobler  thought, 
That  warm'd  our  sires,  is  lost  and  buried  now 
In  luxury  and  avarice.     Baneful  vice  ! 
How  it  unmans  a  nation  !     Yet  I'll  try, 
I'll  aim  to  shake  this  vile  degenerate  sloth  ;  25 

Til  dare  to  rouse  Britannia's  dreaming  son* 
To  fame,  to  virtue,  and  impart  around 


A   BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  121 

A  generous  feeling  of  compatriot  woes. 

Come,  then,  the  various  powers  of  forceful  speech, 
All  that  can  move,  awaken,  fire,  transport  I  30 

Come  the  bold  ardour  of  the  Theban  bard  ! 
The  arousing  thunder  of  the  patriot  Greek  ! 
The  soft  persuasion  of  the  Roman  sage  ! 
Corne  all !  and  raise  me  to  an  equal  height, 
A  rapture  worthy  of  my  glorious  cause  !  35 

Lest  my  best  efforts  failing  should  debase 
The  sacred  theme  ;  for  with  no  common  wing 
The  Muse  attempts  to  soar.     Yet  what  need  these  ? 
My  country's  fame,  my  free-born  British  heart, 
Shall  be  my  best  inspirers,  raise  my  flight  40 

High  as  the  Theban's  pinion,  and  with  more 
Than  Greek  or  Roman  flame  exalt  my  soul. 
Oh !  could  I  give  the  vast  ideas  birth, 
Expressive  of  the  thoughts  that  flame  within, 
No  more  should  lazy  luxury  detain  45 

Our  ardent  youth  ;  no  more  should  Britain's  sons 
Sit  tamely  passive  by,  and  careless  hear 
The  prayers,  sighs,  groans  (immortal  infamy  !) 
Of  fellow  Britons,  with  oppression  sunk, 
In  bitterness  of  soul  demanding  aid,  50 

Calling  on  Britain,  their  dear  native  land, 
The  land  of  Liberty,  so  greatly  famed 
For  just  redress;  the  land  so  often  dyed 
With  her  best  blood,  for  that  arousing  cause 
The  freedom  of  her  sons ;  those  sons  that  now,  55 

Far  from  the  manly  blessings  of  her  sway, 
Drag  the  vile  fetters  of  a  Spanish  lord. 
And  dare  they,  dare  the  vanquished  sons  of  Spain 
Enslave  a  Briton  ?     Have  they  then  forgot, 
LI 


122  MISCELLANIES. 

So  soon  forgot,  the  great,  the  immortal  day,  60 

When  rescued  Sicily  with  joy  beheld 

The  swift-wing'd  thunder  of  the  British  arm 

Disperse  their  navies  ?  when  their  coward  bands 

Fled,  like  the  raven  from  the  bird  of  Jove, 

From  swift  impending  vengeance  fled  in  vain  ?  65 

Are  these  our  lords  ?  and  can  Britannia  see 

Her  foes  oft  vanquish'd,  thus  defy  her  power. 

Insult  her  standard,  and  enslave  her  sons, 

And  not  arise  to  justice  ?  Did  our  sires, 

Unawed  by  chains,  by  exile,  or  by  death,  70 

Preserve  inviolate  her  guardian  rights, 

To  Britons  ever  sacred,  that  their  sons 

Might  give  them  up  to  Spaniards  ? — Turn  your  eyes, 

Turn  ye  degenerate  !  who  with  haughty  boast 

Call  yourselves  Britons,  to  that  dismal  gloom,  75 

That  dungeon  dark  and  deep,  where  never  thought 

Of  joy  or  peace  can  enter ;  see  the  gates 

Harsh-creaking  open  ;  what  an  hideous  void  ! 

Dark  as  the  yawning  grave  !  while  still  as  death 

A  frightful  silence  reigns  :  there  on  the  ground          80 

Behold  your  brethren  chain'd  like  beasts  of  prey ; 

There,  mark^your  numerous  glories  ;  there,  behold 

The  look  that  speaks  unutterable  woe ; 

The  mangled  limb,  the  faint,  the  deathful  eye, 

With  famine  sunk,  the  deep  heart-bursting  groan       85 

Suppressed  in  silence;  view  the  loathsome  food 

Refused  by  dogs  ;  and,  oh  !  the  stinging  thought ! 

View  the  dark  Spaniard  glorying  in  their  wrongs  j 

The  deadly  priest  triumphant  in  their  woes, 

And  thundering  worse  damnation  on  their  souls  :       90 

While  that  pale  form,  in  all  the  pangs  of  death, 


A   BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  123 

Too  faint  to  speak,  yet  eloquent  of  all, 

His  native  British  spirit  yet  untamed, 

Raises  his  head,  and  with  indignant  frowns, 

Of  great  defiance  and  superior  scorn,  95 

Looks  up  and  dies. — -Oh  !  I  am  all  on  fire  ! 

But  let  me  spare  the  theme,  lest  future  times 

Should  blush  to  hear  that  either,  conquer M  Spain  , 

Durst  offer  Britain  such  outrageous  wrong, 

Or  Britain  tamely  bore  it—  100 

Descend,  ye  guardian  Heroes  of  the  land  ! 

Scourges  of  Spain,  descend  !  behold  your  sons  ; 

See  how  they  run  the  same  heroic  race ; 

How  prompt,  how  ardent  in  their  country's  cause, 

How  greatly  proud  to  assert  their  British  blood,        105 

And  in  their  deeds  reflect  their  fathers'  fame  ! 

Ah  !   would  to  heaven  ye  did  not  rather  see 

How  dead  to  virtue  in  the  public  cause, 

How  cold,  how  careless,  how  to  glory  deaf, 

They  shame  your  laurels,  and  belye  their  birth  !       110 

Come  ye  great  spirits,  Cavendish,  Rawleigh,  Blake  ! 
And  ye  of  later  name,  your  country's  pride, 
Oh  come  !  disperse  these  lazy  fumes  of  sloth  ; 
Teach  British  hearts  with  British  fires  to  glow; 
In  wakening  whispers  rouse  our  ardent  youth;          115 
Blazon  the  triumphs  of  your  better  days  ; 
Paint  ail  the  glorious  scenes  of  rightful  war 
In  all  its  splendors  ;  to  their^swelling  souls 
Say,  how  ye  bowM  the  insulting  Spaniard's  pride  ; 
Say,  how  ye  thunder'd  o'e^lii^prostrate  heads  ;    1 20 
Say,  how  ye  broke  their  Iffies  and  fired  their  ports ; 
Say,  how  riot  death,  in  all  its  frightful  shapes, 
Could  damp  your  souls,  or  shake  the  great  resolve 


124-  MISCELLANIES, 

For  Right  and  Britain  :  then  display  the  joys 

The  patriot's  soul  exalting,  while  he  views  125 

Transported  millions  hail  with  loud  acclaim 

The  guardian  of  their  civil,  sacred  rights  ; 

How  greatly  welcome  to  the  virtuous  man 

Is  death  for  others'  good  !  the  radiant  thoughts 

That  beam  celestial  on  his  passing  soul,  130 

The  unfading  crowns  awaiting  him  above, 

The  exalting  plaudit  of  the  Great  Supreme, 

Who  in  his  actions  with  complacence  views 

Uis  own  reflected  splendor ;  then  descend, 

Though  to  a  lower,  yet  a  nobler  scene  ;  135 

Paint  the  just  honours  to  his  relics  paid, 

Shew  grateful  millions  weeping  o'er  his  grave, 

While  his  fair  fame  in  each  progressive  age 

For  ever  brightens ;  and  the  wise  and  good 

Of  every  land  in  universal  choir  140 

With  richest  incense  of  undying  praise 

His  urn  encircle  ;  to  the  wondering  world 

His  numerous  triumphs  blazon  ;  while  with  awe, 

With  filial  reverence,  in  his  steps  they  tread  ; 

And  copying  every  virtue,  every  fame,  145 

Transplant  his  glories  into  second  life, 

And  with  unsparing  hand,  make  nations  blest 

By  his  example.     Vast  immense  rewards  ! 

For  all  the  turmoils  which  the  virtuous  mind 

Encounters  here.    Yet,  Britons  !  are  ye  cold  ?  150 

Yet  deaf  to  glory,  virtue,  and  the  call 

Of  your  poor  injured  coujfrymen  ?  Ah  !  no  : 

I  see  ye  are  not ;  every  bosom  glows 

With  native  greatness,  and  in  all  its  state 

The  British  spirit  rises.     Glorious  change  !  155 


A   BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  125 

Fame,  Virtue,  Freedom,  welcome  !  Oh  !  forgive 
The  Muse,  that,  ardent  in  her  sacred  cause, 
Your  glory  questioned  ;  she  beholds  with  joy, 
She  owns,  she  triumphs,  in  her  wish'd  mistake. 

See  from  her  sea-beat  throne,  in  awful  march,       160 
Britannia  towers  !  upon  her  laurel  crest 
The  plumes  majestic  nod  !  behold,  she  heaves 
Her  guardian  shield,  and,  terrible  in  arms, 
For  battle  shakes  her  adamantine  spear; 
Loud  at  her  foot  the  British  Lion  roars,  165 

Frighting  the  nations :  haughty  Spain  full  soon 
Shall  hear  and  tremble.     Go  then,  Britons,  forth, 
Your  country's  daring  champions;  tell  your  foes, 
Tell  them  in  thunders  o'er  their  prostrate  land, 
You  were  not  born  for  slaves  :'  let  all  your  deeds       170 
Shew  that  the  sons  of.tuose  immortal  men, 
The  stars  of  shining  story,  are  not  slow 
In  virtue's  path  to  emulate  their  sires, 
To  assert  their  country's  rights,  avenge  her  sons, 
And  hurl  the  bolts  of  Justice  on  her  foes.  175 

THE    V  I  R  T  U  O  S  O; 

IN  IMITATION  OF  SpENCER^S  STYLE  AND  STANZA. 

April  23,  MDCCXXXVII. 

• Vidennis 

Nugari  sotitos.         PERSIUS. 

V?  IIILOM  by  silver  Thames'*  gentle  stream, 
In  London  town  there  dwelt  a  subtile  wi^ht : 

O  ' 

A  wight  of  mickle  wealth,  and  rnickle  fame, 

Book-leara'd  and  quaint ;  a  VIRTUOSO  hight. 
Uncommon  things  and  rare  were  his  delight ; 
LI  2 


126  MISCELLANIES. 

From  musings  deep  his  brain  ne'er  gotten  ease, 
Nor  ceasen  he  from  study,  day  or  night ; 

Until  (advancing  onward  by  degrees) 
He  knew  whatever  breeds  on  earth,  or  air,  or  seas,        9 

He  many  a  creature  did  anatomize, 

Almost  unpeopling  water,  air,  and  land ; 
Beasts,  fishes,  birds,  snails,  caterpillars,  flies, 

Were  laid  full  low  by  his  relentless  hand, 
That  oft  with  gory  crimson  was  distain'd : 

He  many  a  dog  destroy 'd,  and  many  a  cat; 
Of  fleus  his  bed,  of  frogs  the  marshes  drain'd, 

Could  tellen  if  a  mite  were  lean  or  fat, 

And  read  a  lecture  o'er  the  entrails  of  a  gnat.         1 8- 

He  knew  the  various  modes  of  ancient  times, 
Their  arts  and  fashions  of  each  different  guise  ; 

Their  weddings,  funerals,  punishments  for  crimes, 
Their  strength,  their  learning  *eke,  and  rarities ; 

Of  old  habiliments,  each  sort  and  size, 

Male,  female,  high  and  low  to  him  were  known  j 

Each  gladiator-dress,  asd  stage-disguise  ;  25 

With  learned  clerkly  phrase  he  could  have  shewn 
How  the  Greek  tunic  differed  from  the  Roman  gown* 

A  curious  medalist,  I  wot,  he  was, 

And  boasted  many  a  course  of  ancient  coin  ; 
Well  as  his  wife's  he  knewen  every  face, 

From  Julius  Ccesar  down  to  Const antine : 
For  some  rare  sculpture  he  would  oft  ypine, 
(As  green-sick  damosels  for  husbands  do ;) 
And  when  obtained,  with  enraptured  eyne, 

He'd  run  it  o'er  and  o'er  with  greedy  view,  35 

And  look,  and  look  again,  as  he  would  look  it  thro'» 


THE    VIRTUOSO.  127 

His  rich  rnusaeum,  of  dimensions  fair, 

With  goods  that  spoke  the  owner's  mind  was  fraught; 
Things  ancient,  curious,  value-worth,  and  rare, 

From  sea  and  land,  from  Greece  and  Rome  were  brought, 
Which  he  with  mighty  sums  of  gold  had  bought : 

On  these  all  tydes  with  joyous  eyes  he  pored ; 
And,  sooth  to  say,  himself  he  greater  thought, 

When  lie  beheld  his  cabinets  thus  stored,  44- 

Than  if  he'd  been  of  Albion's  wealthy  cities  lord.   - 

Here  in  a  corner  stood  a  rich  'scrutoire, 

.     With  many  a  curiosity  replete ; 

In  seemly  order  furnished  every  drawer, 

Products  of  art  or  nature  as  was  meet; 
Air-pumps  and  pri&ms  were  placed  beneath  his  feet, 

A  Memphian  mummy-king  hung  o'er  his  head  ; 
Here,  phials  with  live  insects  small  and  great, 

There,  stood  a  tripod  of  the  Pythian  maid  ; 

Above,  a  crocodile  diffused  a  grateful  shade.  5  <l 

Fast  by  the  window  did  a  table  stand, 

Where  hodiern  and  antique  rareties, 
From  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome,  from  sea  and  land, 

Were  thick  besprent  of  every  sort  and  size  : 
Here  a  B#Adma*-«pider*8  carcase  lies, 

There  a  dire  serpent's  golden  skin  doth  shine  ; 
Here  Indian  feathers,  fruits,  and  glittering  flies; 

There  gums  and  amber  found  beneath  the  line, 

The  beak  of  Ibis  here,  and  there  an  Antonine.         (>3 

Close  at  his  back,  or  whispering  in  his  ear, 
There  stood  a  spright  ycleped  Phantasy ; 

Which,  wheresoever  he  went,  was  always  near : 
Her  look  was  wild,  and  roving  was  her  eye ; 


128  MISCELLANIES, 

Her  hair  was  clad  with  flowers  of  every  dye ; 
Her  glistering  robes  were  of  more  various  hue, 
Than  the  fair  bow  that  paints  the  cloudy  sky, 

Or  all  the  spangled  drops  of  morning  dew  ;  71 

Their  colour  changing  still  at  every  different  view. 

Yet  in  this  shape  all  tydes  she  did  not  stay  ; 

Various  as  the  chamaelion  that  she  bore, 
Now  a  grand  monarch  with  a  cr^wn  of  hay, 

Now  mendicant  in  silks,  and  golden  ore  : 
A  statesman,  now  equipped  to  chase  the  boar, 

Or  cowled  monk,  lean,  feeble,  and  unfed  ; 
A  clown -like  lord,  or  swain  of  courtly  lore ; 

Now  scribbling  dunce  in  sacred  laurel  clad, 

Or  Papal-father  now,  in  homely  weeds  array 'd.      81 

The  wight  whose  brain  this  Pliantonis  power  doth  fill, 
On  whom  she  doth  with  constant  care  attend, 

Will  for  a  dreadful  giant  take  a  mill, 
Or  a  grand  palace  in  a  hog-stie  find  : 

(From  her  dire  influence  ME  may  Heaven  defend  !) 
All  things  with  vitiated  sight  he  spies  ; 

Neglects  his  family,  forgets  his  friend, 
Seeks  painted  trifles,  and  fantastic  toys, 
And  eagerly  pursues  imaginary  joys.  90 


Ttcmarl:  This  was  probably  his./?™/  poetic  flight,  and  will  be 
valued  as  a  proof  of  his  early  genius;  it  was  addressed,  as  also  the 
next  poem,  to  the  Editor  of  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  from 
whence  both  are  now  copied  :  this  was  accompanied  by  the  follow- 
ing note. 

J  ho]>e,  sir,  youlll  excuse  the  following  poem  (being  the  perfomuntce 
of  one  in  his  sixteenth  year)  and  insert  it  in  yjur  next  magazine, 
tihich  will  oblige 

your's  tfc.  MARCUS. 

Newcastle -upon -Tyne,  April  23,  1707. 


129 
THE    POET; 

A  RHAPSODY. 
July,  MDCCXXXVII. 

Ojb  all  the  various  lots  around  the  ball, 

Which  Fate  to  man  distributes  absolute ; 

Avert,  ye  Gods  !  that  of  the  Muse's  son, 

Cursed  with  dire  poverty  !  poor  hungry  wretch  ! 

What  shall  he  do  for  life  ?  he  cannot  work  5 

With  manual  labour :  shall  those  sacred  hands, 

That  brought  the  counsels  of  the  gods  to  light ; 

Shall  that  inspired  tongue,  which  every  Muse 

Has  touch'd  divine,  to  charm  the  sons  of  men  : 

These  hallow'd  organs  !  these!   be  'prostitute  10 

To  the  vile  service  of  some  fool  in  power  ; 

All  his  behests  submissive  to  perform, 

However  to  him  ingrateful  ?  Oh  !  he  scorns 

The  ignoble  thought;  with  generous  disdain, 

More  eligible  deeming  it  to  starve,  15 

Like  his  famed  ancestors  renown'd  in  verse, 

Than  poorly  bend  to  be  another's  slave,-— 

Than  feed  and  fatten  in  obscurity. 

—These  are  his  firm  resolves,  which  fate  nor  time, 

£for  poverty  can  shake.     Exalted  high  20 

In  garret  vile  he  lives ;  with  remnants  hung 

Of  tapestry  :  But,  oh  !  precarious  state 

Of  this  vain  transient  world  !  all  powerful  time  ! 

What  dost  thou  not  subdue  t  See  what  a  chasm 

Gapes  wide,  tremendous  !  see  where  Saul  enraged,    25 

High  on  his  throne,  encompassed  by  his  guards, 

With  levelVd  spear,  and  arm  extended  sits, 

Ready  to  pierce  old  Jesse's  valiant  son, 

Spoil'd  of  his  nose  !-~-arojund,  in  tottering  ranks, 


130  MISCELLANIES. 

On  shelves  pulverulent,  majestic  stands  30 

His  library  ;  in  ragged  plight,  and  old  ; 

Replete  with  many  a  load  of  criticism, 

Elaborate  products  of  the  midnight  toil 

Of  Belgian  brains  ;  snatch'd  from  the  deadly  Lands 

Of  murderous  grocer;  or  me  careful  wight,  33 

Who  vends  the  plant,  that  clads  the  happy  shore 

Of  Indian  Patomack  ;  which  citizens 

In  balmy  fumes  exhale,  when,  o'er  a  pot 

Of  sage-inspiring  ^coffee,  they  dispose 

Of  kings  and  crowns,  and  settle  Europe's  fate,  4O 

Elsewhere,  the  dome  is  fill'd  with  various  heaps 
Of  old  domestic  lumber ;  that  huge  chair 
Has  seen  six  monarchs  fill  the  British  throne  : 
Here,  a  broad  massy  table  stands,  o'erspread  44 

With  ink  and  pens,  and  scrolls  replete  with  rhyme  : 
Chests,  tools,  old  rasors,  fractured  jars  half  full 
Of  muddy  Zythum,  sour  and  spiritless. 
Fragments  of  verse,  hose,  sandals,  utensils    ' 
Of  various  fashion,  and  of  various  use, 
With  friendly  influence  hide  the  sable  floor.  60 

This  is  the  bard's  musaeum,  this  the  fane 
To  Phccbus  sacred,  and  the  Aonian  maids  : 
But  oh  !  it  stabs  his  heart,  that  niggard  fate 
To  him  in  such  small  measure  should  dispense 
Her  better  gifts  :  to  him  !  whose  generous  soul  55 

Could  relish,  with  as  fine  an  elegance, 
The  golden  joys  of  grandeur,  arid  of  wealth  ; 
He  who  could  tyrannise  o'er  menial  slaves, 
Or  swell  beneath  a  coronet  of  state, 
Or  grace  a  gilded  chariot  with  a  mien,  (50 

Grand  as  the  haughtiest  Timon  of  them  all.— 


THE  POET;   A    RHAPSODY.        131 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  rave  at  destiny  ; 
liere  he  must  rest  and  brook  the  best  he  can, 
To  live  remote  from  grandeur,  learning,  wit ; 
Immured  amongst  the  ignoble,  vulgar  herd,  65 

Of  lowest  intellect,  whose  stupid  souls 
But  half  inform  their  bodies  ;  brains  of  lead 
And  tongues  of  thunder  :  whose  insensate  breasts 
Ne'er  felt  the  rapturous,  soul-entrancing  fire 
Of  the  coelestial  Muse  ;  whose  savage  ears  70 

Ne'er  heard  the  sacred  rules,  nor  even  the  names, 
Of  the  Venusian  bard,  01  critic  sage 
Full-famed  of  Stagyra ;  whose  clamorous  tongues 
Stun  the  tormented  ear  with  colloquy, 
Vociferate,  trivial,  or  impertinent ;  75 

Replete  with  boorish  scandal :  yet,  alas  ! 
This,  this  !  he  must  endure,  or  muse  alone, 
Pensive  and  moping  o'er  the  stubborn  rhyme, 
Or  line  imperfect — No  !  the  door  is  free, 
And  calls  him  to  evade  their  deafening  clang,  80 

By  private  ambulation  ;— -'tis  resolved  : 
Off  from  his  waist  he  throws  the  tatter'd  gown, 
Beheld  with  indignation  ;  and  unloads 
His  pericranium  of  the  weighty  cap, 
With  sweat  and  grease  discoloured  :  then  explores     85 
The  spacious  chest,  and  from  its  hollow  womb 
Draws  his  best  robe,  yet  not  from  tincture  free 
Of  age's  reverend  russet,  scant  and  bare  ; 
Then  down  his  meagre  visage  waving  flows 
The  shadowy  perruque  ;  crown'd  with  gummy  hat    90 
Clean  brush'd;  a  cane  supports  him.     Thus  equip'd 
He  sallies  forth ;  swift  traverses  the  streets, 
And  seeks  the  lonely  walk ;  Hail  sylvan  scenes, 


132  MfSCELLANIES, 

Ye  groves,  ye  valleys,  ye  meandering  brooks, 

Admit  me  to  your  joys,  in  rapturous  phrase,  cJj 

Loud  be  exclaims;  while  with  the  inspiring  Muse 

His  bosom  labours ;  and  all  other  thoughts. 

Pleasure  and  wealth,  and  poverty  itself, 

Before  her  influence  vanish.     Rapt  in  thought, 

Fancy  presents  before  his  ravish \1  eyes  100 

Distant  posterity,  upon  his  page 

With  transport  dwelling ;  while  bright  learning's  sons 

That,  ages  hence,  must  tread  this  earthly  ball, 

Indignant  seem  to  curse  the  thankless  age, 

That  starved  such  merit.     Meantime  swallow  \1  up 

In  meditation  deep,  he  wanders  on,  100 

Unweeting  of  his  way. — But  ah  !  he  starts  ! 

With  sudden  fright !  his  glaring  eye-balls  roll, 

Pale  turn  his  cheeks,  and  shake  his  loosenM  joints ; 

His  cogitations  vanish  into  air,  1 10 

Like  painted  bubbles,  or  a  morning  dream. 

Behold  the  cause  !  see  !  through  the  opening  glade, 

With  rosy  visage,  and  abdomen  grand, 

A  cit, — a  dun  ! As  in  Apulia's  wilds, 

Or  where  the  Thracian  Hebrus  rolls  his  wave,  115 

A  heedless  kid,  disportive,  roves  around, 

Unheeding,  till  upon  the  hideous  cave 

Of  the  dire  wolf  she  treads ;  half  dead  she  views 

His  bloodshot  eye-balls,  and  his  dreadful  fangs, 

And  swift  as  Eunts,  from  the  monster  flies.  120 

So  fares  the  trembling  bard  ;  amazed  he  turns, 

Scarce  by  his  legs  upborn  ;  yet  fear  supplies 

The  place  of  strength;  straight  home  he  bends  Ins  course, 

Nor  looks  behind  him  till  he  safe  regain 

His  faithful  citadel ;  there  spent,  fatigued,  125 


THE    POET;  A   RHAPSODY.         133 

He  lays  him  down  to  ease  his  heaving  lungs, 
Quaking  and  of  his  safety  scarce  convinced. 
Soon  as  the  Panick  leaves  his  panting  breast, 
Down  to  the  Muse's  sacred  rites  he  sits, 
Volumes  piled  round  him  ;  see  I  upon  his  brow       130 
Perplex'd  anxiety,  and  struggling  thought, 
Painful  as  female  throes  :  whether  the  bard 
Display  the  d*yls  of  Heroes ;  or  the  fall 
Of  Vice,  in  lay  dramatic  ;  or  expand 
The  lyric  wing  ;  or  in  elegiac  strains  135 

Lament  the  Fair ;  or  lash  the  stubborn  age, 
With  laughing  satire ;  or  in  rural  scenes 
With  shepherds  sport;  or  rack  his  hard-bound  brains 
For  the  unexpected  turn.     Arachne  so, 
In  dusty  kitchen  corner,  from  her  bowels  140 

Spins  the  fine  web ;  but  spins  with  better  fate, 
Than  the  poor  bard :  she  !  caitiff!  spreads  her  scares, 
And  with  their  aid  enjoys  luxurious  life ; 
Bloated  with  fat  of  insects,  flesh Jd  in  blood  : 
He  !  hard,  hard  lot !   for  all  his  toil  and  care,  1 45 

And  painful  watchings,  scarce  protracts  a  while 
His  meagre,  hungry  days  !  ungrateful  world  ! 
If  with  his  drama  he  adorn  the  stage ; 
No  worth-discerning  concourse  pays  the  charge, 
Or  of  the  orchestra,  or  the  enlightening  torch.          150 
He  who  supports  the  luxury  and  pride 
Of  craving  Lais ;  he  !  whose  carnage  fills 
Dogs,  eagles,  lions ;  has  not  yet  enough, 
Wherewith  to  satisfy  the  greedier  maw 
Of  that  most  ravenous,  that  devouring  beast,  155 

Yclep'd  a  Poet.     What  new  Halifax, 
What  Somers,or  what  Dorset  can'st  thou  find, 
Mm 


134.  MISCELLANIES. 

Thou  hungry  mortal  ?  break,  wretch,  break  thy  quill, 

Blot  out  the  studied  image ;  to  the  flames 

Commit  the  Stagyrite;  leave  this  thankless  trade;    160 

Erect  some  pedling  stall,  with  trinkets  stock'd, 

There,  earn  thy  daily  half-pence,  nor  again 

Trust  the  false  Muse  :  so  shall  the  cleanly  meal 

Repel  intruding  hunger. Oh  !  'tis  vain, 

The  friendly  admonition's  all  in  vain;  lit.  165 

The  scribbling  itch  has  seized  him,  he  is  lost 
To  all  advice ;  and  starves  for  standing's  sake. 

Thus  sung  the  sportful  Muse,  in  mirthful  mood, 
Indulging  gay  the  frolic  vein  of  youth ; 
But  oh  !  ye  Gods,  avert  the  impending  stroke,          170 
This  luckless  omen  threatens  !  hark  !   methinks, 
I  hear  my  better  angel  cry,  Retreat, 
Rash  youth  !  in  time  retreat !  let  those  poor  Bards, 
Who  slighted  all,  all !  for  the  flattering  Muse, 
Yet  cursed  with  pining  want,  as  land-marks  stand,      175 
To  warn  thce  from  the  semice  of  the  ingrate. 


135 

TO    CORDELIA. 
July,  MDCCXL. 

1HROM  pompous  life's  dull  masquerade, 

From  pride's  pursuits,  and  passion's  war, 

Far,  my  CORDELIA,  very  far  ! 
To  thee  and  me  may  Heaven  assign, 
The  silent  pleasures  of  the  shade, 
The  joys  of  peace,  unenvied,  though  divine.          6 
Safe  in  the  calm  embowering  grove, 

As  thy  own  lovely  brow  serene  ; 

Behold  the  world's  fantastic  scene  ! 
What  low  pursuits  employ  the  great, 
What  tinsel  things  their  wishes  move, 
The  forms  of  Fashion,  and  the  toys  of  State,        12 
In  vain  are  all  CONTENTMENT'S  charms, 

Her  placid  mien,  her  cheerful  eye, 

For  look,  CORDELIA,  how  they  fly  ! 
Allured  by  Power,  Applause,  or  Gain, 
They  fly  her  kind  protecting  arms  ; 
Ah,  blind  to  pleasure,  and  in  love  with  pain  1     1 8 
Turn  and  indulge  a  fairer  view, 

Smile  on  the  joy s^ which  here  conspire; 

O  joys  harmonious  as  my  lyre  ! 
O  prospect  of  inchanting  things, 
As  ever  slumbering  Poet  knew  ,      23 

When  Love  and  Fancy  wrapt  him  in  their  wings  ! 
Here,  no  rude  storm  of  passion  blows, 
%  But  sports,  and  smiles,  and  virtues  play, 

Cheer'd  by  affection's  purest  ray  •; 
The  air  still  breathes  contentment's  balm, 
And  the  clear  stream  of  pleasure  flows 
For  ever  active,  yet  for  ever  calm.  30 


136  MISCELLANIES, 

A    SONG 

JL  HE  shape  alone  let  others  prize, 

"The  features  of  the  fair; 
I  look  for  spirit  in  her  eyes, 

And  meaning  in  her  air.  4- 

A  damask  Cheek,  and  ivory  Arm, 

Shall  ne'er  my  wishes  win,, 
Give  me  an  animated  form, 

That  speaks  a  mind  within.  8 

A  face  where  awful  Honour  shines, 
Where  sense  and  sweetness  move, 

And  angel  innocence  refines, 

The  tenderness  of  Love.  12 

These  are  the  soul  of  Beauty's  frame, 

Without  whose  vital  aid, 
Unfinished  all  her  features  seem, 

And  all  her  roses  dead.  1ft 

But  ah  !  *  where  both  their  charms  unite, 

How  perfect  is  the  view, 
With  every  image  of  delight, 

With  graces  ever  new.  20 

Of  power  to  charm  the  greatest  woe, 

The  wildest  rage  control, 
Diffusing  mildness  o'er  the  brow, 

And  rapture  through  the  soul.  24 

Their  power  but  faintly  to  express, 

All  language  must  despair, 
But  go  behold  Arpasia's  face, 

And  read  it  perfect  there.  2& 

*  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  Book  I,  line  362* 


137 


INSCRIPTIONS. 

i. 

FOR   A    GROTTO. 

I  O  me,  whom  in  their  lays  the  shepherds  call 
Actoea,  daughter  of  the  neighbouring  stream, 
This  cave  belongs.     The  fig-tree  and  the  vine, 
Which  o'er  the  rocky  entrance  downward  shoot, 
Were  placed  by  Glycon.     He  with  cowslips  pale,         5 
Primsose,  and  purple  lychnis,  decked  the  green 
Before  my  threshold,  and  my  shelving  walls 
With  honeysuckle  cover'd.     Here  at  noon, 
Lull'd  by  the  murmur  of  my  rising  fount, 
I  slumber  :  here  my  clustering  fruits  I  tend  :  10 

Or  from  the  humid  flowers,  at  break  of  day, 
Fresh  garlands  weave,  and  chace  from  all  my  bounds 
Each  thing  impure  or  noxious.     Enter  in, 
O  stranger,  undismay'd.     Nor  bat,  nor  toad 
Here  lurks  :  arid  if  thy  breast  of  blameless  thoughts  15 
Approve  thee,  not  unwelcoine  shalt  thou  tread 
My  quiet  mansion  :  chiefly,  if  thy  name 
Wise  Pallas  and  the  immortal  muses  own. 

II. 

FOR  A  STATUE  OF  CHAUCER, 
AT  WOODSTOCK. 

OUCH  was  old  CHAUCER,  such  the  placid  mien 
Of  him  vyho  first  with  harmony  infomi'd 
The  language  of  our  fathers.     Here  he  dwelt 
M  m  2 


138  INSCRIPTIONS,  ' 

For  many  a  cheerful  day.     These  ancient  walls 

Have  often  heard  him,  while  his  legends  blithe  5 

He  sang;  of  love,  or  knighthood,  or  the  wiles 

Of  homely  life  :  through  each  estate  and  age, 

The  fashions  and  the  follies  of  the  world 

With  cunning  hand  portraying.     Though  per  chance 

From  Blenheim's  towers,  O  stranger,  thou  art  come  10 

Glowing  with  CHURCHILL'S  trophies ;  yet  in  vain 

Dost  thou  applaud  them,  if  thy  breast  be  cold 

To  him,  this  other  hero ;  who,  in  times 

Dark  and  untaught,  began  with  charming  verse 

To  tame  the  rudeness  of  his  native  land.  15 

m. 

W  HOE'ER  thou  art  whose  path  in  summer  lies 
Through  yonder  village,  turn  thee  where  the  grove 
Of  branching  oaks  a  rural  palace  old 
Imbosoms.     There  dwells  Albert,  generous  lord 
Of  all  the  harvest  round.     And  onward  thence  5 

A  low  plain  chapel  fronts  the  morning  light 
Fast  by  a  silent  rivulet.     Humbly  walk, 
O  stranger,  o'er  the  consecrated  ground ; 
And  on  that  verdant  hilloc,  which  thou  see'st 
Beset  with  osiers,  let  thy  pious  hand  10 

Sprinkle  fresh  water  from  the  brook  and  strew 
Sweet-smelling  flowers.     For  there  doth  Edmund  rest^ 
The  learned  shepherd  ;  for  each  rural  art 
Famed,  and  for  songs  harmonious,  and  the  woes 
Of  ill-requited  love.     The  faithless  pride  15 

Of  fair  Matilda  sank  him  to  the  grave 
In  manhood's  prime.     But  soon  did  righteous  Heaven 
With  tears,  with  sharp  remorse,  and  pining  care/ 


INSCRIPTIONS.  139 

Avenge  her  falshocd.     Nor  could  all  the  gold 

And  nuptial  pomp,  which  lured  her  plighted  faith 

From  Edmund  to  a  loftier  husband's  home,  21 

Relieve  her  breaking  heart,  or  turn  aside 

The  strokes  of  death.     Go,  traveller;  relate 

The  mournful  story.     Haply  some  fair  maid 

May  hold  it  in  remembrance,  and  be  taught 

That  riches  cannot  pay  for  truth  or  love.  26 

IV. 
FOR   SHAKESPEARE'S   MONUMENT. 

O  YOUTHS  and  VIRGINS  :  O  declining  ELD  : 

O  pale  MISFORTUNE'S  SLAVES  :  O  ye  who  dwell 

Unknown  with  HUMBLE  QUIET;  ye  who  wait 

In  COURTS;  or  fill  the  golden  seat  of  KINGS  : 

O  sons  of  SPORT  and  PLEASURE  :  O  thou  wretch 

That  weep'st  for  JEALOUS  LOVE  ;  or  the  sore  wounds 

Of  CONSCIOUS  GUILT  ;  or  DEATH'S  rapacious  hand 

Which  left  thee  void  of  hope :  O  ye  who  roam 

In  EXILE  ;  ye  who  through  the  embattled  field 

Seek  bright  RENOWN;  or  who  for  nobler  palms  10 

Contend,  the  leaders  of  a  PUBLIC  CAUSE; 

Approach  :  behold  this  marble.     Know  ye  not 

The  features  ?  Hath  not  oft  his  faithful  tongue 

Told  you  the  fashion  of  your  own  estate, 

The  secrets  of  your  bosom  ?  Here  then,  round  1 5 

His  MONUMENT  with  reverence  while  ye  stand, 

Say  to  each  other  : "  This  was  SHAKESPEARE'S  form ; 

"  Who  walk'd  in  every  path  of  human  life, 

"  Felt  every  Passion  ;  and  to  all  mankind 

"  Doth  now,  will  ever,  that  experience  yield  20 

"  Which  his  own  genius  only  could  acquire." 


/ 


T40  INSCRIPTIONS', 

V. 

GVLIELMVS  III.  FORT1S,  PIVS,  LIBERATOR,  CVM 
INEVNTE  AETATE  PATRIAE  LABENTI  ADFV- 
ISSET  SALVS  IPSEVNICA;  CVM  MOX  ITIDEM 
REIPVBLICAE.  BRITANNICAE  VINDEX  RENVN- 
CIATVS  ESSET  ATQVE  STATOR;  TVM  DENI- 
aVE  AD  ID  SE  NATVM  RECOGNOVIT  ET  REGEk 
FACTVM,  VT  CVRARET  NE  DOMINO  IMPOTEN- 
TI  CEDERENT  PAX,  FIDES,  FORTVNA,  GENE- 
RIS HVMANI.  AVCTORI  PVBLICAE  FELICITA- 
TIS*P.  G.  A.  M.  A. 

VI. 
FOR  A  COLUMN  AT  RUNNYMEDK 

-I  HOU,  who  the  verdant  plain  dost  traverse  here, 
While  Thames  among  his  willows  from  thy  view 
Retires;  O  stranger,  stay  thee,  and  the  scene 
Around  contemplate  well.     This  is  the  place 
Where  England's  ancient  barons,  clad  in  arms  5 

And  stern  with  conquest,  from  their  tyrant  king 
(Then  rendered  tarne)  did  challenge  and  secure 
The  charter  of  thy  freedom.     Pass  not  on 
Till  thou  hast  bless'd  their  memory,  and  paid 
Those  thanks  which  God  appointed  the  reward  10 

Of  public  virtue.     And  if  chance  thy  home 
Salute  thee  with  a  father's  honoured  name, 
Go,  call  thy  sons  :  instruct  them  what  a  debt 
They  owe  their  ancestors  ;  and  make  them  swear 
To  pay  it,  by  transmitting  down  intire 
Those  sacred  rights  to  which  themselves  were  born.    10- 

*  POSUIT  GRATUS  ANGLUS  MARCUS  AKINSIDE.  > 


INSCRIPTIONS.  Hi 

VII. 
THE   WOOD    NYMPH. 

APPROACH  in  silence,     'tis  no  vulgar  tale 

Which  I,  the  DRYAD  of  this  hoary  oak, 

Pronounce  to  mortal  ears.     The  second  age 

Now  hasteneth  to  its  period,  since  I  rose 

On  this  fair  lawn.     The  groves  of  yonder  vale 

Are,  all,  my  offspring  :  arid  each  Nymph,  who  guards 

The  copses  and  the  furrow'd  fields  beyond, 

Obeys  me.     Many  changes  have  I  seen 

In  human  things ;  and  many  awful  deeds 

Of  justice,  when  the  ruling  hand  of  JOVE  10 

Against  the  tyrants  of  the  land,  against 

The  unhallow'd  sons  of  luxury  and  guile, 

Was  arm'd  for  retribution,     Thus  at  length 

Expert  in  laws  divine,  I  know  the  paths 

Of  wisdom  ;  and  erroneous  folly's  end  15 

Have  oil  presaged  :  and  now  well- pleased  I  wait 

Each  evening  till  a  noble  youth,  who  loves. 

My  shade,  awhile  released  from  public  cares, 

Yon  peaceful  gate  shall  enter,  and  sit  down 

Beneath  my  branches.     Then  his  musing  mind          20 

I  prompt,  unseen  ;  and  place  before  his  view 

Sincerest  forms  of  GOOD  ;  and  move  his  heart 

With  the  dread  bounties  of  the  sire  supreme 

Of  gods  and  men,  with  freedom's  generous  deeds, 

The  lofty  voice  of  glory  and  the  faith  25 

Of  sacred  friendship.     Stranger,  I  have  told 

My  function,     ff  within  thy  bosom  dwell 

Aught  which  may  challenge  praise,  thou  wilt  not  leave 

Unhonour'd  noy  abode,  nor  shall  I  hear 

A  sparing  benediction  from  thy  tongue,  30? 


142  INSCRIPTIONS 

VIII. 


POWERS  UNSEEN,  to  whom,  the  bards  of  Greece 
Erected  altars  \  YE  who  to  the  mind 
More  lofty  views  unfold,  and  prompt  the  heart 
With  more  divine  emotions;  if  erewhile 
Not  quite  unpleasing  have  my  votive  rites  5 

Of  you  been  deem'd,Tvhen  oft  this  lonely  seat 
To  you  I  consecrated  ;  then  vouchsafe 
Here  with  your  instant  energy  to  crown 
My  happy  solitude.     It  is  the  hour 
When  most  I  love  to  invoke  you,  and  have  felt  10 

Most  frequent  your  glad  ministry  divine. 
The  air  is  calm  :  the  sun's  unveiled  orb 
Shines  in  the  middle  heaven.     The  harvest  round 
Stands  quiet,  and  among  the  golden  sheaves 
The  reapers  lie  reclined.     The  neighbouring  groves  15 
Are  mute  ;  nor  even  a  linnet's  random  strain 
Echocth  amid  the  silence.     Let  me  feel 
Your  influence,  ye  kind  powers.     Aloft  in  heaven, 
Abide  ye  ?  or  on  those  transparent  clouds 
Pass  ye  from  hill  to  hill  ?  or  on  the  shades  20 

Which  yonder  elms  cast  o'er  the  lake  below 
Do  you  converse  retired  ?  From  what  loved  haunt 
Shall  I  expect  you  ?  Let  me  once  more  feel 
Your  influence,  O  ye  kind  inspiring  powers  : 
And  I  will  guard  it  well  ;  nor  shall  a  thought  25 

Bise  in  my  mind,  nor  shall  a  passion  move 
Across  my  bosom  unobserved,  unstored 
By  faithful  memory.     And  then  at  some 
More  active  moment.,  will  I  call  them  forth 


INSCRIPTIONS.  143 

Anew ;  and  join  them  in  majestic  forms,  30 

And  give  them  utterance  in  harmonious  strains  ;- 
That  all  mankind  shall  wonder  at  your  sway, 

IX. 

IVlE  though  in  life's  sequestered  vale 

The  Almighty  Sire  ordain'd  to  dwell, 

Remote  from  Glory's  toilsome  ways, 

And  the  great  scenes  of  public  praise  ; 

Yet  let  me  still  with  grateful  pride  5 

Remember  how  my  infant  frame 

He  tempered  with  prophetic  flame, 

And  early  music  to  my  tongue  supplied. 

'Twas  then  my  future  fate  he  weighed, 
And  this  be  thy  concern  he  said,  10 

At  once  with  Passion's  keen  alarms, 
And  Beauty's  pleasurable  charms, 
^  And  sacred  Truth's  eternal  light, 
To  move  the  various  mind  of  Man  ; 
Till  under  one  unblemish'd  plan, 
His  Reason,  Fancy,  and  his  Heart  unite.  \  /       16 


END   OF  THE   POEMS, 


„ 


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